


A Change in Me

by 49Times



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017), Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, Jealous Gaston, Love Triangle, M/M, Oral Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Regret, Unrequited Love, aggressive sexual advances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-10-15 03:56:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 37,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10549674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/49Times/pseuds/49Times
Summary: An AU where none of the castle-related events take place.LeFou and Stanley start to forge a connection in another way...and Gaston feels feelings that make his brain confused.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here is a thing that happened.
> 
> I cannot promise that I know exactly where it's going, but so far it's been fun and I've got some thoughts about what's to come. All feedback is greatly appreciated.

“Come on, big guy,” LeFou grunted, trying to pull Gaston to his feet. A challenge at the best of times, made much harder by the fact that Gaston was even more inebriated than usual. It felt like he trying to pull a grown oak tree out of the ground with his bare hands. Impossible.

 

Gaston was pure dead weight and this mission to get him up was seeming more futile by the minute.

 

Recently, Gaston seemed to have finally gotten it into his head that this thing with Belle was headed nowhere, and his remedy for the sting of rejection was drinking in the tavern until he physically couldn’t drink anymore. And so, faithful LeFou was there, every step of the way, staying up with him in the tavern night after night. To talk him up and tend to his bruised ego while Gaston was conscious and put him to bed, if possible, before he became unconscious.

 

If not, if Gaston fell asleep in a chair, he’d only get a crick in his neck that LeFou would have to take care of. Not that he minded. Touching Gaston’s neck. Or any part of him he got the chance to. Still, Gaston did complain something fierce whenever he did have to endure any sort of pain, and it was better avoided when possible as it tended to make him grumpy.

 

“On your feet, soldier. Let’s put you to bed,” LeFou insisted, tugging pointlessly at his hand.

 

“But...I’m not-  Not _bed._ One more drink, old friend whaddayasay? On me,” Gaston mumbled, standing up and flinging an arm over LeFou’s shoulder- which, due to their height difference, meant he was putting the bulk of his considerable weight on his smaller friend. Lefou’s knees started to buckle but he forced himself to stay standing.

 

“I think-” he grunted. “You’ve had enough for tonight, buddy.”

 

“Thinking? LeFou, don’t we always say...very dangerous past time, that ‘thinking’ nonsense!” Gaston went on, tugging at LeFou’s ear affectionately, still slung bodily over him. “Come on, just one more ale for the road. I’m buyi-”

 

_“Ahem.”_

 

LeFou, hearing a cough to their left, turned towards the source, a task made difficult by the hulking man whose weight he was still supporting.

 Stanley was standing at the bar, leaning against it, looking amused. “Need a hand there, LeFou?”

 LeFou squinted at him. He’d thought the tavern had cleared out already, but there was Stanley watching their ridiculous scene with a raised eyebrow.

LeFou considered the offer. He was already sweating from the exertion of grappling with Gaston, but he- Gaston was _his_ to look after. He didn’t need... “We’re fine, thanks,” he said in a strained voice.

 Stanley let out a laugh. “No you’re not,” he said, walking over and taking up a position on Gaston’s other side. “Let me help.”

 “Help?” Gaston muttered. “Only think we need help with is- get us to the bar, will you, Stephen? Another round on me!”

LeFou couldn’t see him very well beyond Gaston’s bulk between them, but he heard Stanley’s loud scoff followed by, “You’ve missed last call by a long shot, Monsieur Gaston. Let’s get you to your room, shall we?”

 “No one in this place knows how to have any fun,” Gaston grumbled, but Stanley was stronger than LeFou and better equipped to guide him towards the stairs. A little pressure, and the already exhausted and extremely drunk Gaston compliantly went with them, up the single flight to his permanent room in the tavern.

 

They got him, with some difficulty, inside and into the bed. Once his bulk had been tossed on to the mattress, Stanley stepped back towards the door, and LeFou busied himself with their usual routine.

 First, he relieved Gaston of his boots, enjoying the happy sighs of relief Gaston made as the came off, and the way he wiggled his toes freely. Then, he got him tucked in beneath a bearskin blanket, fluffed his pillows, poured him a glass of water from the pitcher at his bedside. The usual.

 He could feel Stanley lingering by the door, though, and that threw him off.

 He’d put Gaston to bed a thousand times, probably but...this was- this was not a part of their day that anyone usually bore witness to. It made him a little uncomfortable. There was an intimacy to their routine he didn’t like sharing, but it might seem stranger if he demanded that Stanley leave. Instead, he kept his back to Stanley and focused on his charge, who was watching his movements through sleepy, half-lidded eyes.

 “Drink some water before bed?” LeFou asked quietly. Gaston frowned in an almost childlike manner.

“Water? Urgh. How dull. I want-” Gaston started, seeming to muster up a last ditch attempt at energy, but LeFou put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back into bed with some force.  

 “No. Water. Now. You’ll thank me in the morning,” he said, smiling at the way Gaston pouted. He brought the glass to Gaston’s lips, watching his mouth and the bulge of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. His heartbeat quickened and he clenched the fist that wasn’t holding a glass. This was about the time, if it hadn't happened already, that his cock would start to harden. It was nerve-wracking enough, trying to keep control of it when he only had to worry about a drunk, oblivious Gaston catching on, but the presence of another person in the room ( _why the_ hell  _was Stanley still hovering, anyway?)_ made him doubly uncomfortable. He was getting far too hot around the collar, and he tugged at it nervously. 

 Gaston gulped down the rest of the water, spilling some on his chin. Without much thought, LeFou brought his sleeve up to his friend's inhumanely chiseled jaw and dabbed at it. Gaston half-smiled at him, and then a massive hand came up to ruffle through LeFou’s hair, mussing it.

 “Thanks for looking after me, LeFou,” he murmured, drunk and sleepy. The only time he was ever so affectionate. LeFou’s eyes closed under his touch, longing the simple moment to last forever, just as he always did. But of course, within seconds, Gaston removed his hand and fell back into bed. A moment later, he was snoring loudly. LeFou couldn’t help but smile down on him, despite the sense of loss he felt, that low-burning but ever present longing for more.

 

There wasn’t much left to do. Admittedly, most nights after he put Gaston to bed, he allowed himself a small window to watch his friend at rest. It was wrong, probably, and inappropriate, but a hard thing to resist. Gaston's face was astonishingly beautiful, and sure, LeFou got endless chances to look at it every day, but there was something about it, when he slept, when he wasn’t running about with swagger and arrogance. He looked peaceful, calm, and- though it seemed an impossible adjective to describe such a man...vulnerable. It was fascinating.

 

He couldn’t do that now. Not with Stanley still in the doorway.

 

_Why was he still in the doorway?_

 

LeFou turned to him frowning. “Uh. What are you still doing here?”

 

Stanley said nothing. He just stood there in the doorway, and intense look on his features. He had intense eyes. LeFou had never noticed before. He shifted uncomfortably under the strange, piercing gaze, then shrugged.

 

“Well...alright then,” he said, walking towards the doorway. He thought maybe as he did, Stanley would move aside to allow him to pass, but he just stood there, blocking the exit and being perplexingly quiet.

 

LeFou stared at him, confused, and Stanley stared back. He couldn’t read his expression, but not for the first time that evening, his heart rate quickened. Heat rose to his cheeks.

 

“Stanley, are you, uh-”

 

“You take care of him,” Stanley said in a low voice, inclining his head ever-so-slightly towards the loudly snoring Gaston.

 

LeFou still couldn’t handle the intensity of Stanley right now or even begin to guess at its meaning.

 

Stanley, who’d always been a friendly face at the tavern, an oft smiling, usually drinking person who never caused any trouble, and was known for being miserable at card games and quick to buy a drink for someone else. What was he _doing?_

 

LeFou forced a laugh. “Well, someone has to. These days, more than ever,” he said, miming a drinking gesturing, rolling his eyes, trying to lighten this strange situation.

 

“You’re always taking care of him,” Stanley said again, still level, matter-of-fact, not returning the smile LeFou offered.

 

“Well, he’s my friend. Has been for...well I couldn’t even tell you how long. He’s my friend,” he repeated. It wasn't strange. Why was Stanley acting as if it were strange?  “Everyone knows that. Anyway, I’d better-” he shuffled his feet, nodding towards the doorway Stanley was still blocking.

 

“Who takes care of you?” he asked softly.

 

It was a plain question, startlingly sincere. Lefou’s jaw dropped open. He was floored, quite honestly, and rendered even more speechless by the fact that Stanley’s hand was coming up to finger his shirt collar. Slender fingers grazed the fabric and started to adjust it in a very slow, very familiar gesture. LeFou swallowed.

 

Okay. It had probably gotten messed up in the struggle to keep his drunken friend somewhat vertical. He took a half step back, and watched Stanley’s hands fall back to his sides, then set to fixing the collar itself.

 

“Who takes care of..of me…” he started, finally finding his voice but still entirely unsure what to say. “I mean, I do, I suppose. I’m a grown- it’s not that hard.” He half-laughed and gave a confused shrug.

 

“Seems a little unfair,” Stanley said quietly.

 

“It’s not,” LeFou said, stepping forward. He was sweating. Why was he sweating? “As I was saying, I really should get home. If I’m not up to milk the cows there’ll be more nagging from gra-mere than I can handle with a hangover.”

 

“Alright. Goodnight then,” Stanley said, stepping into the hall at last. LeFou stepped out too, closing the door behind him. Stanley’s hand came to rest briefly on his shoulder and he gave it a slight squeeze. “Get home safe.”

  
“Uh. Yes. You too,” LeFou said quickly, heading for the stairs without making eye contact.

As he walked out into a softly falling snow, he found himself wondering when it was someone had last told him to get home safe. He couldn’t recall.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things progress between LeFou and Stanley, who is actually a painfully sweet, precious, darling.

LeFou couldn’t deny that something about that night in the tavern changed him. How could it not? He tried, again and again to think about Stanley, and all he'd said and done, in another way-any other way- but kept coming up empty.

It was _flirting_.

There was no getting around that. LeFou had never done much of it himself, but couldn’t help but be familiar with the concept, spending as many nights in the tavern as he did, especially being tied to the hip as he was with Gaston, the most flirtatious human to ever walk the Earth.

The man had it down to an art and science, and no one except Belle had ever been able to resist his charms. The sultry looks, the _leaning_ , the touches that ranged from subtle to obvious, depending on the night or the girl. He’d seen women at it too, fawning over Gaston or some other, lesser but still adequate gent they found appealing. On occasion, LeFou had even been on the receiving end of some flirtations himself, from girls hoping to get closer to Gaston, or to try and make him jealous or something else foolish and futile.

The point being...he _knew_ what flirting was. And he knew perfectly well that Stanley had been flirting with _him._

The thought made his palms sweat.

He’d- well, he’d obviously harbored something very real, and very wrong, for Gaston for as long as he could remember. What started as admiration with no small amount of hero worship when they were children, evolved into...more admiration and hero worship with an unhealthy dose of yearning sexual attraction thrown into the mix as he grew up.

He’d come to terms with that, though. LeFou was...in love with Gaston. Which was not okay, in any way, but he’d accepted it as something he couldn't change long ago and it didn't matter because they'd only ever be friends.

But he’d never- he hadn’t thought about anyone else that way. Not women, of course, but- not other men either. There had never been anyone else but masculine, beautiful Gaston, who was his entire world. 

He wondered what it meant about him, if he could feel those things for a man other than Gaston. He knew what people said about those types, knew there were places in Paris where they were said to run amok, doing..he tried not to think about what, but… he'd always been sure there were none of those types in  _this_ town. 

He shook his head. He didn't have to wonder about it anymore. Those types _did_ exist in this town. At least one of them. There was no denying it. Stanley, who he’d never thought of as more than a cheerful acquaintance had displayed undeniable signs of attraction. To _LeFou._

There was also, no denying that now, at night when he slipped his hand beneath his waistband and imagined it was someone else touching him, there was finally another face he’d seen besides Gaston's.

That very first night, the night where Stanley had helped put Gaston to bed, LeFou gone home in a frazzled scurry, wanting to put as much distance between them as possible. He slipped into bed, drunk, exhausted, but his body still full of that tension it always gathered up when spent a day being close to Gaston (Which was every day, so yes, he had spent every night of his life since puberty beating off to thoughts of Gaston and he knew that was more than wrong and pathetic).

He wanted to rub one out the same way he always did, picturing the most gorgeous human specimen he’d ever laid eyes on, the last face he saw in his head before he fell asleep for...his entire life, probably. And he did think of Gaston, he did. At least at first. But there were flashes of Stanley, too, that he couldn’t shake. The way he's stood, leaning in the doorway of Gaston's room, just gazing. He didn’t think Gaston had ever looked at something so long and hard that wasn’t a mounted trophy of a stag he’d killed, or his own reflection. But Stanley had looked that long and hard at  _him._ LeFou. 

Stanley was- well, no man in town, or probably on God’s green Earth could ever surpass Gaston in sheer beauty, but- well he wasn’t altogether unpleasant to look at. No, not unpleasant at all. He had a nice smile, and smiled often- though he hadn’t smiled much on that night, just stared. His eyes though, were smoky and deep and as LeFou stroked his cock and visions of Stanley came to mind, he couldn’t squash them away, and couldn’t stop touching himself either. He tried to force his thoughts back to Gaston, but he couldn't, not permanently, and by the time he came messily in his palm, his thoughts had been split equally between them.

So, okay. There were some undeniable facts that had now come to light. Stanley was attracted to him. Interested in him. And he was attracted to Stanley.

But so what?

That sort of thing, between men- it wasn’t done. The things he’d spent his life imagining in the dark, things he’d do to Gaston, that Gaston would do to him. They weren’t done. They’d been sheer fantasies, that he enjoyed thoroughly but that’s all they were, and that had been fine. Gaston, he’d known, would marry Belle, or someone who’d suffice for second best. It was fine, wanting to do things like that with someone when there was no chance they’d ever feel the same.

This was different.

There might be something there, but they...they couldn’t act on it. Not in this tiny town, where everyone knew everything that everyone did. It was simple. They just couldn't.

And yet, he now found nights in the tavern almost unbearable.

He tried to focus on Gaston, which should have been easy, as caring for Gaston was a very demanding job of late. He needed ridiculous amounts of attention these days, ever since Belle had made it abundantly clear she had no interest in ever marrying him. He still hadn’t quite let it go, still found opportunities to pester her in town, but her determined disinterest was starting to grate on him, and his confidence was waning. There was a sense of resignation in him now. He was almost...depressed and trying to combat that took up most of LeFou’s time.

The trouble was, Gaston’s method of dealing with his jilted feelings, and the impossible task of trying to understand how someone could resist his charms, involved drinking heavily at the tavern, night after night. That was where he wanted to lick his wounds, and so that's where LeFou had to be as well. The trouble was, the tavern was also where Stanley seemed to spend night after night, and now that he’d been on the receiving end of that gaze of his once, LeFou had an almost sixth sense for knowing when it was on him.

More often than he wanted to, he found himself gazing back, probably being far too obvious about the whole thing, lost in his confusing thoughts and stirring attraction until Gaston would slap him on the back and loudly remind him that it was LeFou's turn in card game he was losing badly.

LeFou tried to avoid actually being near Stanley as much as possible. Stanley tended to drink at the bar, with quieter friends, while Gaston (and therefore, LeFou) spent time at card tables or lounging in his special chair that no one else dared to sit in lest they wanted to face the consequences (namely, Gaston’s fists).

But it was hard. Stanley didn't seem to want to avoid him.

One night, he went up to the bar, getting drinks more drinks at Gaston’s demand, and Stanley disengaged from his friends and came up beside him.

“Evening, LeFou. Can I buy your next?”

“No thank you,” he’d said, politely but firmly. “Gaston buys, I fetch. We've- we've got it worked out,” he said, showing the coin purse Gaston sent him to the bar with.

Then he turned his back on him and ordered two more ales, but not fast enough to miss the disappointed expression on Stanley’s (damned attractive) face before he turned away.

Another time, Gaston had been caught up in an arm wrestling tournament that was getting far too rowdy. He had to marvel at why people would even bother to mill about the table, when it was obvious that the outcome of every single match would be the same. Gaston, crushing the opposition. Of course, LeFou had spent probably dozens of nights doing the same thing, cheering louder than anyone, and he knew exactly why they were watching. It was a glorious display of unyielding manhood. But that night, everyone was just too damn loud and he’d wanted to get away.

“LeFou,” came the quiet voice beside him as he waited for his next drink. He thought it might be a while, as the barman was busying himself serving the triplets, each of whom was resting ample cleavage on the bar. He didn’t turn to face him, but he knew at once who it was. “That’s a new cravat, isn’t it?”

“Um. Yes,” he said, still only half-looking at him. Stanley’s hand reached out to graze across the fabric, slender, soft fingers moving across the blue green satin.

“Incredible color. From Paris, I presu-”

Stanley stopped talking when LeFou jumped to his feet, out of Stanley’s reach, the barstool he was on scraping loudly across the wooden floor.

“Stop it,” he said, quietly, seriously, looking directly into Stanley’s wounded face.

“Stop what?” he asked.

 _“It._ ” LeFou said, adamant, though he couldn't quite mask the pain it brought him either.

Another long, piercing quiet gaze before Stanley finally nodded and said, “Okay.”

Stanley turned away from him this time, and went back to Tom and Dick, less bounce in his step than was common. LeFou, whose drink had finally been served, took and went back to the crowd around Gaston and tried to find the fun in this thing that normally would have delighted him.

Stanley did back off, after that.

He still threw him looks, but LeFou couldn’t deny he cast plenty of longing looks of his own. Still, Stanley seemed to have given up trying to talk to him. Which was...fine.

He had Gaston to distract him. They went on hunting trips. Went sailing and fishing a few times. Anything to distract him from Belle. He got to try his hand at seducing other women in other towns, which lifted his spirits some, and LeFou was there to make sure everything went well, that his needs were attended to and he always had a drinking companion. His whole life, he'd been content with the companionship he had with Gaston, and if the only touch he got was an arm slung over his shoulder, or a clap on the back, and the only touch he gave was a shoulder or foot rub at the end of a long day...well that had been enough, hadn't it? It would be enough again.

He tried not to think about Stanley.

Then one night, he stepped out of the tavern to relieve his very full bladder. He went to the alley at the side of the tavern, and had just finished rebuckling his belt when he heard footsteps coming from the dark end of the alley.

“Stanley,” he said in surprise, when he got close enough to see who it was.

“LeFou,” Stanley replied, holding out his hands, palms up. “I was out here first, you know. Before you start accusing me of- I don’t know.”

LeFou bit his lip. “I- I wasn’t going to.”

“Oh,” Stanley said quietly. When LeFou couldn’t figure out what else to say, Stanley, looking embarrassed, ran a hand through his styled hair and said, “Okay, well. I guess I’ll head in. Chilly night.”

It wasn’t chilly. Not really. Not enough to bolt.

“I’m sorry,” LeFou said, catching Stanley on the arm as he tried to skirt by him in the narrow alley. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Stanley asked, allowing LeFou to stop him, though he could have very easily brushed past.

“Yes. I’m sorry. That I can’t give you what...what you want,” LeFou choked out.

Stanley stared down at him with a calm, almost pitying expression. “How do you know what I want, LeFou? You won’t even talk to me.”  
LeFou’s mouth fell ajar, not for the first time. “I...well…” That was fair. He honestly had no idea, except that it was something men weren’t supposed to do with each other. “What- what do you want?” He gulped. He actually gulped. How embarrassing.

Stanley let out a quiet sigh. “LeFou,” he said, reaching forward to stroke his cheek. It wasn’t- aggressive. Flirty. It was kindly. “I don’t want anything you’re unwilling to give. I mean that. It’s alright.”

He let his hand drop, and started to walk away again, back towards the tavern, but LeFou caught him, gripping the sleeve of his shirt around his bicep before he could go.

“Wait.” Stanley stopped again, doing as LeFou asked but offering nothing more. “So. I mean, have you done this- anything- before? With...with men?”

“I have,” he said, and LeFou raged at how maddeningly unhelpful that was, while feeling a rush of blood straight to his groin.

“I- really? In this town?”

Stanley only nodded.

“Who?” LeFou asked, flabbergasted. Stanley laughed, not unkindly.

“Oh LeFou. A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

LeFou stared, and swallowed. “So there...there is kissing?”

“Certainly. Sometimes. Would you like…?” Stanley asked, giving LeFou’s hand a glance. It was still clasping tightly at the fabric of his shirt, anchoring him there. LeFou gasped and dropped it. He cast a quick glance down the alley, toward the tavern. He should go back there. Right now. Gaston would be wondering where he was. His feet failed to move.

Stanley reached for his hand, very slowly, and took LeFou’s in his own. Their fingers intertwined, slowly, delicately, and LeFou’s blood was pounding in his ears. “Come back there, with me. mon amie. I’ll show you.” Stanley’s grip on his hand tightened, and he tugged him back towards the dark. His head began firing off a thousand reasons to stop this, but his feet followed, and his cock was already aching in his trousers.

He allowed himself to be led, and already he was woozy at the feeling of how much he wanted it. A tavern girl or two had tried to lead him up the stairs before, but he’d always resisted, using his obligation to keep an eye on Gaston as a paper thin excuse. He hadn’t been interested, of course, because he’d never been interested in the fairer sex, but aside from all that, he knew deep down they weren’t all that interested in him either. As Stanley pulled him into the dark, with a genuine sense of need and urgency, LeFou knew he was already lost.

When they’d reached the far end of the alley, Stanley took him gently by the shoulders, and gave him a push until his back was against the wall. There was more of that torturously intense staring, and Stanley reached forward with a hand, starting to run in through his hair, nails scraping into his scalp in a way that made him scared his eyes might roll back in his head, making him look a fool.

“So, LeFou. Will you allow me? To show you things that men do?”

LeFou reached forward, clutching the forearm that lead to the hand that was sending waves of pleasure from his scalp straight down to his cock, but whether it was to push him away or pull him closer, he didn’t know.

“I…” he tried, but he couldn’t get the words out. He gripped Stanley’s arm tighter, and shut his eyes.

“I understand,” Stanley said, stepping closer. “You’re scared. It is scary. But there’s no need to rush.” Their bodies were almost touching now, and LeFou could feel the heat of him. “A kiss to start, don’t you think?”

His mouth was close enough that LeFou could feel the exhale of breath with his words, but he moved no closer. He was waiting. LeFou didn’t trust himself to speak, so merely nodded, and then Stanley’s mouth was on his, closing the gap between them instantly, whilst somehow managing to be tender and gentle. At first, it was only lips on lips, and LeFou gasped into the sensation of it. He’d only ever kissed a handful of girls before, and never much cared from it, but the press of Stanley’s lips on his was something new and amazing and inconceivable.

He pushed towards Stanley with his body, wanting to feel more of him, and Stanley took the hint, stepping forward with more force, pressing him into the wall. Just as LeFou’s brain started to process that Stanley was rock hard too, and he knew because he could feel the erection pressing hard against him, Stanley’s tongue slipped past his open lips. His hands were still tangling up in LeFou’s hair, tantalizing his scalp, while LeFou’s were roaming up and down Stanley’s back, gripping him as he groaned into the kiss.

This was- he couldn’t stand it. He was going to humiliate himself, he knew it.

“Stan-” he gasped through their kiss, hating that he was breaking it. His hands that had been clinging so tightly to Stanley’s back moved round to his hard stomach, giving him a little push away.

“What is it?” Stanley asked, pulling back. He was out of breath, but his eyes were full of concern. “Do you want to stop?”

“I- no. Yes. No. I’m just- I feel like I’m already on the bri...I’m not sure I can last very long.”

Stanley’s shoulders seemed to sag with relief. “Ah, is that all? That’s natural, mon amie. If it does, it’s alright. There will be plenty of other opportunities, if you want them.” He winked at LeFou, who blushed.

“Okay,” LeFou breathed. “Then we should just...carry on?”

“I’d like to,” Stanley said. “In fact, forgive me if I’m overstepping but, if you’re already that close I’d like to...help before it happens.”

“Help?” LeFou asked, and his suspicions were confirmed when Stanley reached for his belt and started unbuckling it. Slowly, again, making eye contact. Giving LeFou every opportunity to stop him.

“Mmm. If you want,” he said at last.

“I do,” he gasped as Stanley exposed his cock to the night air. Okay. Maybe it was a little chilly. It was almost a relief. This little reprieve was pulling him back a bit, from the climax he didn’t want yet. God, it felt so good, touching Stanley, kissing him. He wanted it to last. Stanley seemed to get that, and didn’t touch him for a long moment, save for a hand coming through his hair. God, he had beautiful hands.

“Are you ready?” he asked LeFou.

“Not really,” LeFou gasped. “But I might die if you don’t- if you don’t touch me.”

He’d barely got the words out before Stanley came forward, gripping his cock. It probably wasn’t much, compared to the likes of Gaston or some of the other men in this town, but LeFou liked his cock well enough. The gasp he heard in his ear when Stanley wrapped his hand around in, and the way he sagged against him, groaning made him think Stanley might like it too, and that thought made him achingly hard.

God, it was a glorious feeling, having a hand sliding up the length of his cock that wasn’t his own. The way he grazed his thumb across the meaty head of it, pumped him with just the right amount of pleasure. It was the best kind of agony. And all the while, Stanley’s mouth was on his neck, kissing him, sucking him, biting him. He tried to control his hips, but there was no controlling the way they bucked into Stanley’s hand.

It didn’t last long. There was a little bit more frantic, sloppy kissing, and at some point, LeFou had reached forward and found Stanley’s cock as well, and was palming him through his trousers. It was busy, gasping and then it was over. LeFou came messily over his hand, and sagged against him, head buried in Stanley’s shoulder.

He basked for a few glorious moments in the comedown of his orgasm.

And then, the thoughts started coming in. He should probably return the favor. Was he ready for that? He’d wanted to, well enough when he’d been hard and caught up in the whirlwind of pleasure, but- but hadn’t he spent the past several months trying to talk himself out of these strange, unacceptable urges he was having towards Stanley? And then in what, ten minutes, he’d gone and undone all those months of mental labor, all the walls he’d built up.

He was weak. He ought to be ashamed.

To solidify his conviction that he better get the hell away, there was a high pitched giggle at the end of the alley, followed by a huskier man’s laugh.

“I have to- I have to get back in there. I’m sure Gaston is wondering where...well. I’ve got to go.” he said, pushing Stanley off him and hurrying back down the length of the alley. At the mouth of it, a tavern wench and patron were locked in the same frantic kissing he’d just been involved in. He didn’t take the time to register who they were, but he caught the wave of the girl’s milky hand as he passed and heard her laugh out “Who’s th- ahhh, bonne nuit, LeFou!” before going back to her noisy kissing.

He re-entered the tavern, gasping with relief, his knees still shaky. Guilt, shame, regret all bashed around in his head, but he knew only part of it had to do with what they’d done, while probably a much bigger part had to do with leaving Stanley alone in the alley.

He needed a drink, immediately.

He stumbled towards the bar, resting his elbows on it, exhausted. He had no sooner taken a breath than a hard hand clapped down on his back.

“LeFou!” he heard Gaston’s booming voice cry out. “Where the hell have you been, my boy?”

“Oh, I...I just stepped out for a minute,” he stammered, looking up at his friend, who frowned.

“That was more than just a minute. You ought to tell me when you’re heading out for that long, you know,” he said, looking cross. “I almost had to order the beer myself.”

LeFou turned to him, unable to mask the look of total disbelief on his face. He couldn’t even manage to string the sentence together, but Gaston seemed to get the gist, frowning further.

“What? It’s- don’t look at me that way LeFou,” he said, looking for all the world like a temperamental child. “I’ve never had to do it before! I don’t know what kind you order!”

LeFou rolled his eyes. “It’s the lager, Gaston. The Parisian one.”

“Oh. Well. Now I know that,” Gaston said, haughtily, looking like he wanted to try to regain some dignity. “Anyway, you shouldn’t take off without telling me. I thought you’d gone home. Who’d make sure I got to bed?” Gaston was grinning at him, like it was some big joke, and clearly expected a smile back. When LeFou couldn’t muster one, Gaston’s smile faltered ever so slightly.

“Take your pick,” LeFou said, gesturing around to the bar full of women, many of whom were eyeing him as they spoke. “Two Parisian lagers,” he said, and stared ahead at the bar while he waited. He could sense Gaston shifting beside him, clearly unsure what to do when LeFou wasn’t turned directly towards him, chattering and bolstering, and waiting for commands.

“Well uh, I suppose I’ll get back to the card game then. Bring them over when you’re done, eh, old friend?” he said, clapping LeFou on the back again.

“As you wish,” he muttered as Gaston swaggered away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is love, dear readers! I've got some ideas for where this going, but I'd also love to hear from you about what you might like to see.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get more serious between LeFou and Stanley, and Gaston remains (for the time being) perfectly oblivious.

 

LeFou tried to keep his distance from Stanley after that, and did. Still, his thoughts were less easy to control than his behavior, and no amount of willpower could stop him from recalling the sensation of being touched, being kissed hungrily, tenderly, desperately in that alleyway. His whole life he’d been touch starved, hopefully waiting for a casual tousling of his hair or squeeze of his shoulder by Gaston, who meant nothing at all by it but friendly affection. 

 

And now, here he was,  _ wanted.  _ It was impossible not to want more of it. 

 

But LeFou knew about a thing called survival. He’d been in the war, and made it through when so many others hadn’t. His life might be a somewhat pitiful thing, but he clung to it. They were at peace now, but he knew there was danger in this little place where everyone greeted each other in the mornings with a smile. 

 

Villeneuve was a perfectly pleasant little town. As long as you were just like everyone else. LeFou had seen its ugliness too. As a child, when he’d been picked out for being heavier. Now, when people like Belle and Maurice received judgmental whispers wherever they went, because she liked to read, and he was artistic, because they were inventive and possessed intellect. If that was the kind of scorn they received for liking books, he could only imagine what would happen if they ever found out what was in his heart. 

 

And so he ignored him, and made sure never to leave Gaston’s side. Stanley had never attempted to approach him when he was engaged with Gaston, and so that’s where he stayed. 

 

Until one night, when he saw Stanley head out of the tavern, and he followed, seemingly without the ability to stop himself. He glimpsed him, just as he was turning down the alley. He followed, staying at the mouth of the alley, wondering if he’d come to his senses and go back inside in the time it took for Stanley to take a piss. 

 

He didn’t. He stayed there, waiting until Stanley was within sight again. 

 

“LeFou,” he said in surprise when he recognized him. “What-” 

 

LeFou didn’t give him a chance to answer. He strode forward, all but bashed his mouth into Stanley’s pushing him back further into the alley. Stanley’s hands came up to his shoulders, and at first it seemed he meant to resist, or ask LeFou to slow down, but in moments that urge dissipated and he allowed LeFou to force him, amid desperate kisses, back to the darkest part of the alley. 

 

And so that became their routine. LeFou resisted for as long as possible, trying each time to tell himself that it would be the last, until the next time came around, and he’d catch Stanley’s eye. ‘ _ Outside’  _ he’d mouth at him, and some nights, if he tried it too early, Stanley would shake his head, but before the end, he’d always give a nod and meet him in their place.

 

LeFou tried his hardest to keep their frenzied encounters purely functional, and quick release of built up need, but that wasn’t Stanley. Stanley was pure tenderness. LeFou, who might be a talkative sort in his normal life, would have liked very much for these to be silent encounters, save for those moans they couldn’t hold back, but that wasn’t Stanley. He loved to whisper in the dark, things like  _ your hands are so soft, mon amour,  _ or  _ my god, you’re beautiful.  _

 

LeFou loved it as much as he loathed it, and couldn’t deny that as much as he wished Stanley wouldn’t say such things, the more Stanley said them, the more likely he was to come hard and fast, and feel weak afterwards. It was so...he wasn’t used to being on the receiving ends of compliments, and Stanley was so genuine. Part of him longed to say things back, because Stanley was gorgeous too, and his hands were soft too, and LeFou loved running his fingers through Stanley’s dark hair and across his the skin of his chest just as much as he loved the feel of his hand around his cock. 

 

But he couldn’t, and as soon as they’d both come, LeFou was gone, back into the tavern, where Gaston sometimes gave him funny looks but more often seemed not to notice his absence. 

 

One night, however, Stanley refused to go out. He shook his head, once, twice, and that was normal, but it soon became clear that he had no intentions of doing so. LeFou kept glancing at him, wondering what was going on and getting flack for failing miserably at the drinking game he was supposed to be participating in. He felt a strange twist in his gut when he saw Stanley get to his feet with Tom and Dick, put on his coat and leave for the night without glancing back. 

 

It happened the next, night and the night after. LeFou was losing his mind. When he couldn’t take it anymore, the way Stanley was avoiding his gaze, refusing his invitations, he decided he had to do something about it. He watched, out of the corner of his eye, until he saw Stanley get up to go for a piss. He waited a few moments, and headed out before Stanley could make it back in. 

 

“Stanley,” he said, catching him as he was heading towards the tavern door. 

 

“LeFou,” he said in surprise. 

 

“Can we- can we talk?” Stanley bit his lip for a moment, then nodded, heading back towards the alley. He didn’t go in far before he stopped. 

 

“What is it that you have to say, LeFou?” 

 

“I…” he tried, but couldn’t figure out what to say. Stanley was standing straighter than normal, his mouth a flat line, clearly determined not to help. His eyes seemed tired. “Do you…” LeFou stammered, trying again. “I don’t understand. Did I do...don’t you want me anymore?” He cringed at how weak it sounded.

 

Stanley’s neutral demeanor seemed to melt away the instant LeFou asked the question. He strode forward across the short distance between them and brought his forehead to rest against LeFou’s and his arms came around LeFou’s lower back, pulling him close. 

 

“Oh, my LeFou,” he murmured. “Of course I do. Of course I do.” 

 

For a while, LeFou couldn’t do much but sink into him, basking in the relief of knowing hie was still wanted. But he was confused. 

 

“Then...why?” he asked, pulling back so he could look at Stanley’s face. 

 

“I do want you. But not here. Not anymore.” 

 

“Here? The...the alley? I mean, no one’s come close to catching us yet. I’m sure they’d just assume we were taking a-” 

 

“That’s not what I mean, LeFou,” Stanley said, shaking his head. “It could- it could be so much better than this.” 

 

“What do you mean?” LeFou asked, barely above a whisper. “I don’t…”

 

“My brother is going to Minerve tomorrow,” he said, his hand came up to cup LeFou’s chin and he stroked his cheek with a delicate thumb. The next town over. “You could- you could come to me, at our home. He won’t be back for a week. We could- actually be together-”

 

LeFou shook his head. “Stanley, I don’t think that’s- I mean, Gaston would wonder where I-” 

 

Stanley’s expression darkened. “Ah, of course. Gaston.” He was almost distasteful as he said it, and LeFou cocked his head in confusion. Stanley hadn’t said a word about Gaston since that night they’d put him to bed, but LeFou had always assumed he liked him- I mean,  _ everyone  _ liked him. Loved him. What was not to love? 

 

“What’s wrong with Gaston?” he asked, feeling defensive. Stanley dropped his hand from LeFou’s face, shaking his head. 

 

“Where to begin,” he muttered, turning his face away from LeFou for a moment. When he turned back, he said, “Listen, LeFou. I can’t pretend to understand the depths of this...this thing you have with him. It...it makes me worry about you sometimes, I’ll admit-”  _ Worry? What was there to worry about,  _ LeFou wondered, surprised, but Stanley was still going, and he forced himself to listen. “But you are a grown man, and if you wish to...well, I have no intentions of interfering, or trying to stop you from obsessing-”  _ Obsessing?  _ “But I can- I can be a friend to you, LeFou.” 

 

“A friend?” LeFou couldn’t help but say at last, raising his eyebrows. 

 

“Yes, my LeFou, a friend,” he said, serious for a moment, but then he cracked a smile small. “Albeit, a friend who can suck your cock like no one else, but yes, a friend. What I mean is, I’ll be good to you. I’ll treat you well, as well you deserve. But...but I won’t do _this_ anymore,” he said, inclining his head towards the dark of the alley, where they’d clumsily groped and fondled each other on so many nights. He stepped forward again, took LeFou’s face in his and gave him a brief, deep kiss. “It could be so much better, LeFou. You have no idea.” 

 

“Better?” LeFou asked, swallowing. 

 

“Better,” Stanley nodded. He gripped LeFou by the lower back briefly, giving him a heated look, and then his hand slipped beneath the waistband of his trousers. He squeezed a plump cheek hard, and LeFou shut his eyes at the pleasurable sensation. “There are things I could do to you, LeFou. Things we haven’t done here, things I wouldn’t do to you here,” he said, and one of his fingers pressed, for the briefest of moments, against the tightness of his hole, making him gasp. His eyes widened in understanding. “ _ Oui,  _ my LeFou,” he said, giving him a grin before pulling his hand away, out of LeFou’s pants. LeFou was at once grateful, because they were far too close to the mouth of the alley to touch like that, and distraught at the thought of what it would feel like if Stanley had pushed against him harder.

Stanley's expression sobered and he stepped back even further. “But not here. I won’t do it here.” 

 

LeFou felt his shoulders sag. “Stanley, that’s-” 

 

“I’ve told you where I’ll be tomorrow,” he said, cutting him off. “I hope to see you there, LeFou. But I understand, if you have your obligations.” With that, he walked back into the tavern to rejoin his friends. 

 

LeFou walked back in after a few minutes, taking his seat on a bench beside Gaston. 

 

“Where is it you keep going, LeFou?” he said loudly, throwing an arm around him and giving his ear a forceful tug. “I had to play your turns as well, friend, and now I am very, very drunk. You’d best see me up the stairs tonight,” he added, smiling down at LeFou.

 

“I always do,” LeFou said, trying to smile back. 

\---

 

He wasn’t going. He felt Stanley’s absence, felt a tug whenever he looked over at the empty seat by Tom and Dick, but he couldn’t go. Gaston was in a mood. He’d tried to talk to Belle again, and she seemed to have given up on politely forceful, opting for outright anger as she demanded he leave her alone. He was fuming from the moment he got into the tavern, and it was all LeFou could do to keep him from blowing up entirely. He loudly orated the story of Gaston’s last kill, a bull elk the size of a house, embellishing here and there, doing everything he could to highlight Gaston’s strength, prowess, cunning. 

 

He’d even told a war story, how Gaston had been instrumental in protecting a village from invaders, and being single-handedly responsible for the rescue of their blacksmith’s maiden daughter, who had been kidnapped in the night. The villagers hung on his every word, as they were obliged to do, although they’d heard it before. Several Villeneuve maidens were sighing heavily by the end of it. 

 

It seemed to have done the trick, and after a few hours, Gaston’s spirits seemed improved. Several women were seated around him, as well as enthusiastic young men who had been children during the war, and Gaston started telling stories for himself. 

 

He’d done his job, but his distraction was now gone, and it was harder to ignore Stanley’s empty chair. He wondered what Stanley was thinking, home alone. Was he hurt? Had he given up hope, and gone to sleep, or was he still lying awake, wondering if LeFou might come to him. It made him feel ill, to picture the disappointment on his sweet face. But- well his life had a routine to it, and it had been the same for years. He couldn’t just change it all, because…he had obligations. 

 

He glanced over at Gaston, who had his mouth buried in the neck of a bar wench (Chloe, was it?), his massive right hand pawing at her tit. Her head was thrown back in pleasure, and she was moaning wantonly. LeFou looked away. It was hardly a new sight, but it never ceased to turn his stomach to lead when he had to watch things like this. 

 

He busied himself with staring into his beer, trying to think of nothing and failing. After a while, he was broken from his reverie by Gaston calling out his name. 

 

“LeFou! LeFou! Get your head out of the clouds, would you?” he called. He’d pulled his mouth away from Chloe’s neck, though his hand was still pressed against her belly. 

 

“Huh? Sorry! What, Gaston?” he asked, startled. 

 

“I said, get us another round, would you? And one for yourself, of course,” he said, throwing his coin purse at LeFou before he could answer. It whacked him on the forehead and fell to the floor. By the time he’d picked it up off the tavern floor, Gaston had returned to necking the very eager Chloe. 

 

Scowling, LeFou got to his feet, stomped over to the bar and ordered the beers. Two, not three. When they came, he slammed them down on the table beside Gaston, who never looked up. 

 

“Your drinks,” LeFou said, before turning on his heel and walking out the tavern, turning left on the road that lead to Stanley’s. 

 

\--

Stanley let him in, beaming, and soon enough he was able to forget the miserable feeling he’d had in the tavern. Stanley made a half-hearted attempt to offer him tea, or something to drink, but started pushing him towards his bedroom before LeFou could even decline. 

 

He was right. It  _ was  _ better. So much better. All the things they’d done so far had been done in fast forward, frantic and sped up and in the dark. Here, in his room, things were warm and comfortable. Stanley lit candles, and made a show of slowly undressed him, of gazing down at his body as he revealed more and more of it. LeFou felt shy, and self-conscious, and tried to cover the parts of himself that were least toned, and found he didn’t have enough hands to manage it. But Stanley shook his head, clicked his tongue, pinned LeFou’s wrists above his head and said ‘ _ No. Let me see you.”  _

 

He took his time, kissing his way down his chest and belly, down the trail of fuzz that led to his cock, and took him in his mouth. It was different, than the few times they’d tried that in the alley. It was slow, and lasted longer, and Stanley kept looking up, making half-lidded eyes at him as LeFou’s hands tangled in his hair, which was down, unstyled, long, beautiful. For the first time, LeFou returned that favor, feeling awkward at first, a little uncomfortable, but coming to love the constant stream of praise that spilled from Stanley’s lips as LeFou took his cock deeper into his mouth. 

 

After that, they’d  _ cuddled,  _ something that was also new, and only as he experienced it for the first time, how lovely and comforting it was, did LeFou start to realize how fucking tragic his existence had been up til that point. 

 

And then, once their arousal had built up again, Stanley fucked him. He was as gentle as could be, tender and slow, constantly checking on LeFou, but after the briefest discomfort, LeFou found ecstasy in it, came to realize he was born to be fucked like this, and was already dreaming about a time when Stanley could fuck him into the mattress even harder. 

 

And then- the best part. Well, maybe not the best, because getting fucked was certainly the best...second best. The second best part. After a brief, but warm and lovely sleep in Stanley’s arms, he woke up to the scent of cooked eggs, and opened bleary eyes to see Stanley sitting up on the bed beside him, fully dressed, but with his shirt unbuttoned, a plate of breakfast in his hands. 

 

“Morning, mon amour. Breakfast?” 

 

LeFou felt a rush at the sight of Stanley’s smile. 

 

LeFou had stayed with Gaston on plenty of nights, especially in the winter. His grand-mere’s farm was a bit of a walk, and if he made to leave on a snowy evening Gaston would laugh loudly and boom that of course, LeFou must stay with him. It was never- anything like that. Indeed, although he appreciated not having to walk home in the cold, it was a special kind of torment, having to lie beside Gaston, next to his taut, gorgeous body, listening to the rise and fall of his breathing and knowing he couldn’t reach out and touch him the way he longed to. 

 

Still, though Gaston was generous in letting him stay, more often than not in the morning, LeFou would wake to Gaston’s leg coming over to kick him under the covers.  _ LeFou. LeFou. Be a pal and cook us up some eggs, would you?  _ And of course, he’d be the one to go down to the kitchen of the tavern in the cold, restart the fire so it was blazing by the time Gaston made it downstairs to be presented with his breakfast. 

  
No one other than his gra-mere, or someone paid to do it, had ever made LeFou breakfast. He ate it hungrily, gratefully, and as soon as he was done, tossed the plate aside and all but threw Stanley down on the bed, making out with him until they were both thoroughly hard and ready for another round, LeFou’s first one in the light of day, though not, he was sure, the last. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaston's suspicion starts to grow.

After their first night together in the comfort of Stanley’s bed, it became hard not to want that tenderness all the time. Stanley was kind, and funny, and LeFou was drawn to it, compelled to make up for all the long years he’d spent without knowing intimacy and touch. Over the next months, he struggled to strike a balance between Stanley and the life he’d had before, with questionable success. 

 

It wasn’t easy an easy thing to do. Villeneuve was a place of routine, and LeFou's routine had been fairly unchanging until this whole glorious and complicated thing with Stanley began. Gaston had grown accustomed to having LeFou at his side, day and night, day in and day out. LeFou knew even short absences would be hard to excuse. The handsome hunter was dense and self-absorbed but not so dense that he would fail to notice if LeFou started changing his habits or staying away from him.

Not that LeFou _wanted_ to either. Gaston was his best friend and the thought of life without him was something LeFou didn't even want to think about.

Still, in a perfect world, LeFou probably would have spent more time with Stanley than he did. He longed for the freedom to run to that bed whenever he wanted, but the risk was too high. 

 

They did, however, have the luxury of privacy when they chose to spend a night at Stanley's now, and reveled in it. Stanley’s brother, it turned out, had gone visited the village of Minerve that night because he sought work with a crofter there. He was granted an apprenticeship and soon moved away. As Stanley’s parents had long since passed, it meant Stanley had the place to himself, and they certainly took advantage, though not nearly as much as either would have liked. Most of that fell on LeFou. Stanley, he knew, would open the door to him every night, if LeFou was willing, but more often than not, LeFou would have to shake his head and turn down invitations to come home with him.

It was not uncommon for them to argue about it a little. Stanley was not a controlling sort and never exactly tried to stop him, when LeFou chose Gaston over him. He understood the risks of being found out the same as LeFou, and saw the rationale behind his need to keep up appearances. Still, it was clear it hurt him and Stanley seemed to have difficulty understanding what LeFou even saw in Gaston.

When they started to flit around that subject, it was strange,tense and awkward.

Stanley  _just didn’t get it_ and LeFou didn’t get _why_ he didn’t get it. He’d always assumed his Gaston was universally adored. Of course, there had been Belle who’d disliked him, but that girl was an oddball, and LeFou had taken her as the only exception. Educated, refined, a newcomer to the village. An outsider.

She hadn’t been around to witness Gaston’s heroics in the war. She hadn't seen how he’d kept half the village fed during the Great Drought several years back thanks to his expert tracking and hunting skills, or how he rebuilt most of their burnt down church himself without even breaking a sweat or any of the other impressive feats Gaston accomplished. He could sort of understand _Belle_ not liking Gaston, but _Stanley?_

It boggled his mind that someone who’d grown up in this village could possibly dislike its most magnificent resident.

At first, Stanley would simply frown when LeFou declined his invitations, but as time he made fewer efforts to disguise his dislike and it became harder for LeFou to ignore it. When Gaston came up, Stanley's generally mild expression would always darken. He was quick to express that LeFou deserved better, deserved to be respected and appreciated more than he was and occasionally, when things got especially heated, even went so far as to imply that LeFou was little more than a servant. At those times, LeFou tried not to rise to it or get angry, because he hated to fight, and a part of him was genuinely touched by Stanley’s concern.

But Stanley really _didn’t_ get it.

For his entire life, earlier than his memory even stretched, it had been _them._ LeFou and Gaston. And his life had been good, and fun, and special _because_ of Gaston. LeFou honestly had no idea what his days would have been like, those thousands of days spanning his childhood, adolescence, early adulthood, without Gaston at his side, but there was no denying it would have been a fairly miserable and pathetic existence.

Gaston had always been his shining protector. Even when they were children, before Gaston became the biggest, most hulking, most intimidating man in town, he had stood up for LeFou, shielding him from the worst of people. There was a time, long ago, where Gaston was actually capable of _losing_ a fight, and he did. Still, doggedly, he fought for LeFou when people called him names or tried to beat him up. Occasionally, Gaston even ended up with a bloody nose or black eye over it. Not that he seemed to mind. A scoundrel even in his youth, he knew his scars and cuts only made him more impressive to the girls of Villeneuve.  

LeFou couldn’t just forget all Gaston had done for him, or throw aside their friendship just because he’d finally found someone to share intimacy with. Sure, Gaston was bossy and entitled, demanding and high maintenance, but Gaston wanted LeFou at his side just as much as Stanley did, if for different reasons. He _needed_ him. 

Gaston had taught him how to hunt, how to fight, how to ride horses... how to be confident and outgoing when he’d once been so weak and unsure. Without Gaston, LeFou doubted the chubby, shy child he’d once been could have ever grown into someone who cavorted about the tavern, laughing, singing, dancing on tables, getting in people’s faces and generally having such _fun._

Sometimes he wanted to explain to Stanley, or to at least make a half-baked attempt at of it, but there was another part of him that _didn’t_ want to explain. He knew Stanley couldn't be the only one who wondered at their bond. But the whole world didn’t have to get him and Gaston. LeFou got it, and that's what mattered. He knew what they were to one another.

 

Even with his attempts at caution, LeFou still craved the warmth of Stanley, and came to him at least a couple of nights a week. He tried to choose wisely, going on the rare nights Gaston didn’t want to go the the tavern, or if it was a tavern night, LeFou would wait until Gaston was wrapped up in some woman and it was clear he’d be taking her upstairs.

But as LeFou predicted, Gaston started to pick up on something fairly quickly. He might not be the brightest person in the way Belle, or fancy types from Paris might be, but Gaston was sharp. His experience as a soldier and hunter made him pick up on things, heightened his senses. Even when drunk and rowdy, he had an almost animal awareness of what was going on around him, an ability to notice the subtle. It was not uncommon for him to question LeFou with narrowed eyes after he’d spent a night with Stanley.

 

“Where were you last night?” Gaston had said once, finding him in the market one morning. “One minute you’re there, being strangely quiet, and the next I look over and you’re nowhere to be seen!” LeFou fidgeted. Gaston had been all over one of the triplets that night, and LeFou was sure he planned to bed her. He waited until fairly late to leave, and didn't think Gaston would even notice he was gone. 

 

“I just went home, Gaston,” he said awkwardly. “I was tired.”

 

“Tired?” Gaston barked, punching him in the arm. “I say, LeFou, you’re not _getting old_ are you? Because if you are, then I am too, and that’s unacceptable! Completely unacceptable. No," he said, crossing muscular arms across his impossibly broad chest. "I refuse!”

 LeFou laughed, because only Gaston could be arrogant enough to think he could stop the aging process simply by saying so, but his laugh sounded funny in his throat, and his palms had already begun to sweat. 

Gaston slung an arm around LeFou again in his typical familiar gesture, one that still made LeFou’s heart beat quicken, even now that he had someone real, who loved him. He was as powerless as the typical village girl when it came to Gaston, and the musk of him still made LeFou a little weak in the knees.

“That’s it!” Gaston boomed, steering LeFou through the market with him, despite the fact that he’d been right in the middle of trying to purchase some apples when Gaston accosted him. LeFou dropped the apples at the last second before he could be accused of theft, and allowed Gaston to lead him.  “You are staying up with me ‘til dawn tonight, LeFou. I mean it, friend, I’m not letting you out of my sight. You’re only as old as you feel, as they say! Ah, yes, better restock on eggs,” he said, loading up LeFou’s arms with several cartons, paying the seller and then walking back towards his house. LeFou followed with full arms, shaking his head in fond exasperation.

 

Another time, Gaston started an inquisition when he’d first arrived in the tavern. It was early in the night and it was still fairly quiet.

 

“Absent again last night, I see!" he said when he saw LeFou coming towards him. LeFou tried not to cringe. He'd ditched the tavern entirely the previous night. He and Stanley had cooked dinner together, and when he'd started to leave for the tavern, where he knew Gaston would be waiting, Stanley had looked so heartbroken that LeFou couldn't bring himself to go. Stanley had made it more than worth his while, and he hadn't regretted it in the slightest. Until now.

"What’s your excuse this time? Huh, my slippery friend?” Gaston asked, grinning as LeFou slid onto the bench beside him.

 

“Ah, well...gra-mere’s been a little under the weather lately. Thought I’d better stick close to home for the night.”

 

“Oh really?” Gaston said, arching an eyebrow at him. “That’s funny, because I ran into your dear grand-mere in town this morning. The old bat seems to be under the impression that she’s got the right to _talk_ at me. Because you and I are friends, or something? You'll have to set her right about that, I'm far too important to have old women prattling at me in the street. Anyway, she's a persistent little thing. Couldn’t shake her. My God, LeFou, the elderly can be so _dull,”_ he complained, shaking his head. “I tried to tune her out, of course, which was fairly easy, as I just thought about how impressive I am instead, but she did follow me about for far too long before I got rid of her. The _point,_ my dear friend, is I don’t think your dear grandmother was ill at all. She was spry as a spring chicken,” he said, giving a disgusted shudder as he thought back on the unpleasant memory. 

LeFou squirmed uncomfortably in his seat for a moment before trying, “Well, that’s because I looked after her all night, isn’t it? Took care of dinner and the chores so she could rest...rest up. She- she got better.”

 

“Mmm,” Gaston said, looking unconvinced. “Come now, LeFou. You can’t keep secrets from your oldest friend. You’ve got yourself a girl at last, haven’t you?" His eyes were bright, twinkling as he clutched his heart with dramatic flare.

"I must say, LeFou, I’m a touch hurt you would keep something like that from me...or fail to ask for the advice as someone so skilled and experienced at wooing the fairer sex! Of course, I could never get you to _my_ level. There are some things you simply can't teach. Still, I'm sure I could give you pointers that could get a maid hot and bothered. It's not polite to keep things from me,” Gaston said, half-pouting, half-amused. 

 

“I…” LeFou started, running a hand through his hair awkwardly. "Um-"

 

“No matter,” Gaston said with a wave of his hand. “Who is she, then? Probably not any of the usual harpies who hang about the tavern...I'm sure I'd have picked up on that. Must be a classier sort," he said, nodding thoughtfully, stroking his stubbled jaw. "I suppose that means you’re actually _courting_ someone.” He waggled his eyebrows at LeFou, waiting for him to divulge details.

 

“Gaston,” LeFou struggled. “I’m not-”

 

“Oh come now,” Gaston laughed, tousling LeFou’s hair roughly, then giving him a soft slap on the face. “Who is she? You can tell me! I’m not going to steal her away from you... though we all know I _could,"_  he said with a playful flex of his muscles. He winked at LeFou _"_ I’d never do that to you, of course. Well...unless it was Belle,” he said, then shook his head and laughed . “Which we know would be impossible. If she doesn’t want me, I suppose she’s simply _chosen_  spinsterhood, the mad bint,” he said, sighing heavily. “What a waste.”

 

LeFou laughed, perhaps a bit too loudly. “Seriously! Any girl crazy enough to reject you belongs in the loony bin! I’d definitely never be interested in someone as messed up in the head as that.”

 

Gaston chuckled heartily, cheered by the praise and insults thrown at the girl he was still reeling over, but quickly sobered. “Who is it you _are_ interested in then? You still haven’t told me the lucky lass’s name!” He elbowed him in the side, as usual, a little too hard, not knowing his own strength. 

 

LeFou winced, and swallowed when he realized Gaston wasn’t letting it go. “There is no lass, Gaston. Really.”

 

“Alright,” Gaston said, still completely unconvinced. “If you say so. But you be sure to tell this lass who 'doesn’t exist' one thing: She better get used to sharing. Tonight, you’re mine!” He bashed his tankard against LeFou's, spilling beer, and threw his arm around him.

  
LeFou accepted it with mixed feelings. The tavern was still quiet, but he’d seen Stanley come in a short while ago. Gaston’s voice tended to carry, and he had a feeling their private conversation had been anything but.

Though his back was turned, he could feel the burn of Stanley’s eyes on them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the lovely feedback you've left so far! Your comments are so kind and encouraging. Hope you enjoyed the update :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaston finds out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****TRIGGER WARNING**********
> 
> Hi guys. I want to thank you all for your amazingly kind, encouraging reviews. The support means the world to me. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update, but to be honest there are some unpleasant things that happen in this chapter than I was kind of scared to write. 
> 
> I don't want to spoil things, but I have to in case it's something people are not comfortable with. Gaston is deeply unpleasant in this chapter. There is derogatory language and unwanted advances/touching. I'm sorry if that puts anyone off, but it's what had to happen for the story I want to tell. 
> 
> ***TRIGGER WARNING****

It happened on one of the nights LeFou chose the tavern. He’d slipped away from the tavern fairly early the night before, wanting to be with Stanley too badly to wait. Gaston was in a rowdy, flirtatious mood and he was sure- he was sure he wouldn’t be missed. He’d given Stanley the nod and they’d left. He knew he needed to show his face again the night after, and actually give it his all. He was starting to slip, he knew. The pull towards quiet domesticity was getting stronger, his heart wasn’t in these wild tavern nights as much, and it had to be showing.

So he made his way to the tavern, prepared to get roaring drunk, to sing and dance and joke about with Gaston until they were both barely able to make it up the stairs to his room.

To his surprise, though it had already fallen dark, Gaston wasn’t there when he arrived, so he chose a seat at the bar with Tom and Dick. He was just finishing up his first beer, wondering if Stanley might at least show up so he could cautiously play footsie with him beneath the barstools for a bit- a favorite bit of flirtation for them both on the nights they had to stick to the tavern- when he heard a rumbling voice behind him.

“LeFou.”

His heart skipping a bit, he turned around to see Gaston looming behind his chair, quite close. Close enough that LeFou couldn’t miss the flare of his nostrils, or the stench of whisky on his breath.

“There you are,” LeFou said, trying to sound bright. “I was wondering when you were going to show up!”

“I want to talk to you,” Gaston said. His voice was level, steady, but almost too steady, like he was clenching his teeth. LeFou’s gut twisted painfully, and he felt as helpless as the prey Gaston took down in the forest as easy as breathing.

“Sure,” LeFou swallowed. “What’s going on?” He tried to sound cheerful, but he could feel Tom and Dick watching with interest. They were a few drinks in, but it was as clear to them as it was to LeFou that Gaston was in some sort of mood.

“Not here,” Gaston grunted, pulling LeFou off his stool by the collar so quickly he nearly fell over, might have done if he hadn’t fallen into Gaston’s bulk. Then Gaston’s hand was on the back of his neck, pushing him towards the stairs roughly. Panic swept through him and before they even reached the stairs LeFou’s heart was a battering ram inside his chest.

He felt his feet trying to dig in, his body trying to brace against going for the stairs, against being trapped, but if Gaston wanted him upstairs, he would get him upstairs. It was only a matter of how big a scene they’d make in the process of getting him there. LeFou could already feel a few curious eyes on him, and sagged in resignation, allowing Gaston to push him up the stairs so fast he tripped on a couple.

They got to Gaston’s room, the first at the top of the stairs, and Gaston growled, “Get in.” There was nothing to do but turn the handle and do as he said. LeFou took a few steps in, not turning around, but his stomach twisted when he heard Gaston’s boots clunk in and the door slam closed behind him so hard the walls shook. This was it. Caged in with the bear, who loomed between him and the only exit.

 _He knows_ , LeFou thought. _He knows_. It had been repeating in his head, a terrified mantra from the moment he heard Gaston growl his name down at the bar.

Shakily, he turned to face him, stepping back a bit as he took in the powerful, manic energy that was brewing in his muscular friend. His eyes had a wild, glazed look in them, his fists were clenching and unclenching as he stared at LeFou, his face dark, angry, confused.

“Gast-” LeFou began, cautiously, because he couldn’t bear the silence, but stopped immediately when Gaston turned away, stomped across the room and gave a chair a furious kick that sent it splintering against a wall.

After a moment of huffing and staring at the shattered chair, Gaston turned back to him and asked in a voice that was dangerously low, “What the hell is _wrong_ with you?”

LeFou’s shoulders sank as he got his fears confirmed. He knows. Still, there was a part of him, a desperate, terrified part that thought maybe, maybe he could still deny…

“Gaston, I don’t know what-”

“Don’t you play the fool with me!” Gaston growled, advancing towards him but stopping short of grabbing him, a look of revulsion on his face. “Did you really think you could- that I wouldn’t find out? What kind of idiot do you take me for?” He was fuming, furious, pacing like a caged animal. The room seemed far too small for the whirlwind of energy- of anger- inside him. LeFou could do nothing but stay frozen to the spot, terrified that one wrong move would bring Gaston’s fury down on him, and he’d splinter to pieces as easily as the chair.

Gaston had never truly tried to hurt him before, but even in horseplay, or in aggressive affection, LeFou had gotten a taste of his strength, and had witnessed it’s raw power on stronger men than himself. He didn’t speak, couldn’t even try to answer the question, so he just stood there, and let Gaston going on, pacing, ranting.

“I just- when I went after you, I thought- you were being so sly, not letting on who you were- I just wanted to get a glimpse at who she was, so I could- but I _saw you_!” he said, disgust and disbelief marring his handsome face, his strong jaw clenched.

“You- you followed me?” LeFou gasped out.

Of course he had. It was the only way Gaston could have...Stanley had left twenty minutes before LeFou, but the walk to his farmhouse was long and quiet, so he waited for LeFou on the edge of town.

The images of the night before flashed at him like rapid fire.

The way he’d jumped a foot when Stanley jumped out from the shadows at him, the way Stanley laughed musically at LeFou’s startled yell and pulled him in for a kiss, the way Stanley had walked him up the dark lane with an arm around his back, and hand on his hip, the way LeFou had leaned into him, drunk, sleepy and content, with thoughts of a slow, languid fucking putting a soft smile on his face.

The walk was long though, and by the time they’d reached Stanley’s door, the cold had sobered them up and and there was frantic, fumbling kissing on the doorstep as they struggled to get it open. They’d knocked over a cast-iron skillet on their way to the bedroom, laughing loudly between kisses, between desperate struggles with belt buckles. 

LeFou wanted to die, to sink into the floor, to throw himself through the glass window and onto the street below, to stagger to his feet and run, to keep running until he couldn’t run anymore.

How could he be so stupid? How could he not expect that Gaston would… he’d hunted with him enough to know the stealth the man was capable of. He’d once seen him sneak up on a doe so silently, he was able to put a knife in her heart before the poor thing even looked up from the grass she was grazing on. He’d seen him do the same to the throat’s of enemy scouts in the war. He should have guessed Gaston might...he should have been sure he was distracted enough not to care-

How much had he seen? How far had he followed? It hardly mattered. Even if he’d only followed as far as the edge of town, he’d have seen enough.

“Yes, I did,” Gaston growled. “And I- what’s _wrong_ with you, LeFou?” he asked again, incomprehension written all over his face.

LeFou felt a pang in his chest and the sting of tears in his eyes.

For so long, for so many years, he’d asked himself the same question, and had never been able to come up with an answer. These last few months, though, had almost convinced him that there _wasn’t_ anything- that he was- that things were finally _right_ after all the long years of shame and doubt.

He didn’t dare voice it out loud, and only manage to stammer, “Are you- are you going to...to t-”

Gaston looked at him again with those wild eyes, looked at him like he’d grown four extra heads. “To _tell_? Are you _mad_?” He ran a hand through his hair, which had gone as wild as his eyes, nothing neat or groomed or sleek about it. “Do you think I want to see you- to see you _strung up_ for- No, I’m not going to _tell_ , you fool.”

Gaston stared at LeFou, chest rising and falling fast. Then, very seriously, more calmly than he’d said anything tonight since they’d been in the bar, he said, “But you’ve got to stop it, LeFou. At once.”

LeFou stared at him. _Stop_? He...couldn’t. “Gaston, I-”

Gaston, who hadn’t really stopped pacing since they got into the room, slammed his fist into an oak table mightily, “ _I mean it_ , LeFou. It’s- it’s _sick_. You’re sick. You’re...mad.”

Each word was like a twist of the knife in his gut, and he felt himself struggling to breathe, gasping for air, yet in him there also stirred a desire to speak up, to fight back against the harshness of Gaston’s words. “I’m not-” he tried.

“You _are_. It isn’t right, LeFou, what you’re doing with that- with that- It’s vile, is what it is. Twisted. _Perverse_. It isn't done here. It isn't done _anywhere_ where decent people- You need to _stop_.”

LeFou blinked hard, trying not to let his tears fall. He’d said the same things to himself a thousand times as a growing lad, when the thoughts first started coming to him in the dark of night, infiltrating his days. He’d tried so hard to push them away, but they kept coming. But now he could only think of Stanley, and his smile and his warmth, and their home, and he couldn’t find any single thing inside him that felt it was wrong anymore.

“No,” LeFou said, jaw set.

“ _No_?” Gaston asked, jaw dropping in shock. _‘No one says no to Gaston!’_ The words Gaston once said after one of Belle’s rejections came flooding back, words he’d said with the same anger and disbelief he was feeling now. It had been true, before Belle. No one ever did, least of all LeFou. But he’d said it now, and he meant it. Let Gaston take it as he would.

“No,” he repeated. “I won’t stop. I don’t want to.”

Gaston let out a feral howl of rage and kicked over an end table, which fell with a loud clatter. “You’re insane! You’re a- you lunatic. You’re going to get yourself killed!” he said, his pacing finally stopping as he started to come directly at LeFou, advancing on him, boots pounding into the floorboards, larger and more menacing than he’d even been.

LeFou found himself stepping backwards instinctively, in spite of the defiance in his heart, nearly tripping over himself as he tried to put distance between them, until he hit the wall by the door and there was nowhere else to go. “Killed, LeFou! You think the people in this town are going to stand for that sort of- of- debauchery?” His was inches from LeFou now, looming massively over him, his rising and falling chest nearly pressed into LeFou’s face. “You’ll be killed! And why? So you can have a few nights getting yourself buggered by that- by some scrawny little-”

He trailed off, just looking down at LeFou would that same anger and total lack of comprehension on his face. LeFou could do nothing but stare back, just as confused, and deeply afraid.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked again, quieter this time, his hands coming to rest on LeFou’s shoulder, a penetrating look in his eyes, like he was trying to bore his way through them and into LeFou’s soul, to understand what had happened to it to make it so vile and depraved.

  
“I don’t know, Gaston,” he said in a strained voice. “It’s just- it’s who I am.”

“It’s not!” Gaston roared, volatile and animal again, slamming his palm against the wall behind LeFou’s head so hard it made him jump. “I _know_ you, LeFou! You’re not some- you’re not some filthy...sodomite! He’s _done_  this to you. He's turned you into...!” Gaston growled. “That twisted, little- he's gotten his claws in you, somehow, done something to your head, taken you away from me...I’ll bloody kill him!”

Gaston took a half-step away, a new level of rage and drive to action in him that made LeFou’s blood run cold. His hand shot out to grab Gaston by the shirt without so much as a thought and he found himself crying out, “No! Don’t you- _don’t hurt him Gaston_!”

The tears were back in his eyes, as was the pure terror, worse than anything he’d felt for himself. Deep down, maybe, he’d been sure Gaston would never actually hurt him, but he knew with heart-stopping clarity that the same thing could not be said about Stanley.

Gaston stared down in momentary shock that anyone would dare put a hand on him like that, and he wrenched LeFou’s hand off him, pinning it to the wall against his head. “Look at that! Of course he has. He saw something in you, saw that you were nice- that you were _weak_ \- and he’s turned you into some- some kind of-” Gaston was too drunk, too angry, too rattled to find the words, and he gave up, just held LeFou there, pinned against the wall staring at him.

For half a second, LeFou struggled against the hold before he realized it was futile. “He hasn’t turned me into anything, Gaston,” he said quietly. “This is who I am,” he said again, with more conviction than before. “Who I’ve always been.”

Gaston stared at him, quietly. Processing. Or maybe not processing. LeFou wasn’t sure he was capable of it. He could see the strain on Gaston’s face, in the working of his jaw, the furrowed brow, the squint.

He still looked disgusted, but LeFou saw a shift in his body language that meant some sort of acceptance was starting to slip in, and he gave a nod that would have been near imperceptible if he hadn’t been standing so close, his hulking form invading every bit of LeFou’s space. “That doesn’t change anything. You still can’t- you can’t go cavorting about like some vile... you did a good enough job hiding it up ‘til now, LeFou,” Gaston said, nodding with assurance. “You just have to stop, and no one else has to know.”

He was right, of course. It was plain Gaston had no desire to share what he’d learned. If he stopped now, this could all go away….

No.

He didn’t _want_ it to go away. He’d spent his whole life keeping it inside, hiding it away, feeling nothing but shame and self-disgust. With Stanley and his slow, patient entry into LeFou’s life, it had all changed. That loneliness and ache that no amount of singing or dancing or drinking could chase away had finally dissipated. He knew now, what it was like to be touched, to feel intimacy. To know love. Love. Stanley had said it to him, more than once, more times than he could count, and LeFou had never once said it back, but the sharp, stabbing pain he now felt at the thought of sticking Stanley up on a shelf, of pretending none of it had ever happened and going on like before- it was unbearable, and he knew now, at last that he did feel all those things for Stanley he’d been scared to say.

“I don’t want to stop, Gaston. _I can’t._ ”

Gaston let out another roar of frustration, two massive hands going up to pull at his own hair, making it wilder than ever. “For God’s sake, LeFou! Listen to yourself! You’re _insane_ , and you’re going to let this- this madness that’s in you destroy you- destroy _everything_ -”

Gaston was shaking him by the shoulders now, as LeFou knew well enough that he was right, that there was real danger looming over him, that would always loom there if he chose to pursue this thing with Stanley. But he’d lived too much of his life hiding who he was. Stanley had set him free, and he wasn’t going back to that. If the rest of his life was shorter because of it, so be it.

“You say- you say this has always been in you?” Gaston asked again, quiet, contemplative, though what he was thinking now, LeFou couldn’t guess. He only nodded.

Gaston stared down at him, and LeFou’s heartbeat quickened as he tried to suss out what wheels were turning behind the eyes who couldn’t read. He stepped closer, and LeFou wanted to step back, but there was nowhere to step to. He was forced to accept the push of Gaston’s bulk against him.

“Fine then,” he said, with a firm nod. He leaned his head down even closer, and LeFou recoiled- from the whiskey on his breath and- and whatever else was happening. “If- if you’re so bloody desperate for a buggering- if you need to be fucked like some kind of whore, _I’ll_ do it.”

LeFou’s jaw dropped. His hand came up to Gaston’s chest, horrorstruck, and he let out a high-pitched, “What?”

Gaston shrugged, a dark, aggressive expression his face. “What?” he laughed, a harsh, unkind sound. “Can you really pretend you haven’t thought about it?” His arms were on either side of LeFou’s head now, palms pressed against the wall, looming over him with an ugly sneer. “If it’s 'always been in you', as you say, surely I’m the one you’ve really wanted? No woman can spare a second glance for any other man when I’m around- it can't be any different for you. Surely, if it’s the thought of a cock in the arse that turns your head, you’ve pictured mine long before that little _shit_ came along?”

He pressed himself against LeFou now, his chest, his entire, massive body and LeFou realized with shock and panic that Gaston was _hard_.

  
“If it’s cock you like, I’m sure I can make you moan as well as anyone else who’s ever been on the end of it. Better than bloody _Stanley_ ever could- though I did hear the filthy bastard pull a few obscene  _whines_ out of you before I had to leave that disgusting display.” He grabbed LeFou's chin roughly as he said it, forced him to look right into his eyes as he spat out the humiliating words.

“Gaston-” LeFou gasped, his hands between them now, pushing against Gaston’s solid chest weakly.

Gaston was the one who was smashed, but the way LeFou’s head was spinning now with disbelief and fear, he felt he'd downed as much drink as Gaston had. Gaston leaned down, pressing the side of his face against LeFou’s, growling into his ear.

“It’s always been us, right? No one would think twice,” Gaston said, grinding against LeFou, large and hard against him. “No one would guess I was sticking it to loyal, dogged, _fawning_ LeFou…-”

“Gaston, _stop_ -” LeFou tried again, shoving his chest again uselessly. He was too solid. It was like trying to move a brick wall. Panic gripped him. He was a rabbit cornered by a hound, no way out, hot breath on his neck.

“You think I can’t feel this?” Gaston hissed in his ear, reaching out to squeeze him through his trousers. “How hard you are?” Of course he was hard. How could he not be? That didn’t mean he _wanted_ \- Gaston was being _too rough_. **Stanley**. Stanley was never rough. Stanley was kind, gentle, _his._

He gave up on trying to shove Gaston off him. Instead, he wriggled one hand out from under his broad chest, pulled back and swung at him with all his might.

He’d never, in probably a hundred wrestling matches, ever landed a hit on Gaston, not unless Gaston was feeling particularly generous and allowed it. This one though, he didn’t see coming, and it landed square in corner of his mouth, with force LeFou didn’t know he possessed. Gaston, totally blindsided, staggered back, tripped over the bearskin rug and landed with a thud on his rear.

LeFou stared in disbelief- at what he’d done, at what Gaston had done, had tried- but his shock was nothing compared to that of Gaston’s. And while LeFou’s shock was mixed with anger- fury- Gaston’s expression was purely baffled, like he’d just come out of a dream. His hand came up to touch his lip, and he blinked down at the blood he saw on his fingertips.

“I said _stop_ ,” LeFou said, gritting his teeth, glaring down at him. There were tears in his eyes, but they were tears of anger, and now the only disgust in the room was LeFou’s

Gaston stared at him for a moment, panting, still holding up two bloody fingers, before he finally started a quiet, “LeFou..”

But LeFou merely shook his head, mouth tightly shut. “Stay away from me, Gaston,” he said voice. “Just stay the hell away from me.”

  
He turned his back on him, threw open the door and swept out of the room in one fluid motion, without so much as a glance back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there it is. Hard to write, but Gaston has some deep flaws and I don't want to ignore them. 
> 
>  
> 
> I know it wasn't a very nice chapter, but I do want to hear any and all opinions on it!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for a little POV switch up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, and more than ever, I thank everyone who offered up such AMAZING comments. I can't tell you how important and powerful it is to hear your thoughts, and it was especially needed after the last chapter, which was definitely different than anything I've written. 
> 
> I think a lot of people were in agreement about Gaston's behavior. Inexcusable, yet there's a lot going on in his insecure, emotionally immature head that's driving it. It's complicated. Le sigh. 
> 
> Now it's time we get a closer look. I hope you guys enjoy it. Thank you times 500000000000 for all the support.

 

Gaston woke the following morning with a start, a panicked desperation making him sit up in bed fast, and the splitting headache he was suddenly painfully aware of making him fall back onto the pillows a half-second later with a groan of agony.

_What-_

Hazy thoughts and impossible memories swirled through his head amid the stabbing pain, and Gaston covered his face with massive hands, shook his head.

_What-_

_How had it all gone so_ wrong?

He sat up again quickly, still hurting, but the urge to _do something_ driving him to look about the room for his boots, his clothes- whatever he needed to get out and-

Still sitting in bed, Gaston frowned as his survey of the room brought an array of smashed furniture into his bleary view. A chair in splintered smithereens. A large portrait of himself standing over an eight-point buck hanging precariously on a single nail. Glass fragments on the floor glittering in the light of the morning sun.

He shut his eyes again, squeezing them tight, as bits of the previous night blurred through his mind.

It had all gone so _fucking wrong_. His heart was pounding painfully in his chest, the rush of blood to his head making his head throb even worse.

 _It wasn’t supposed to be that way_ , he thought, furiously, slamming a fist into the wall behind his headboard hard enough to make the hanging portrait nearly fall off its last nail.

 

_It should have been simple._

 

Gaston had spend the day before in a quiet fury, pent up in a house that felt far too small, going over all he’d seen again and again, trying in vain to understand _what the hell_ had gotten into LeFou.

 

He couldn’t. It was too strange, too wrong, but amid all his confusion, he'd known one thing.

 

He had to put a _stop_ to it. He had to make the fool see reason, for his own good, whatever it took.

 

That thought drove him through the day, and as evening approached he knew he had to confront him. Had to act, before LeFou embarked on another evening of foul debauchery with that- that- he couldn’t come up with a word strong enough to describe Stanley, and simply imagined slamming a fist into his stupid, delicate face to punctuate his thought instead. It was a satisfying image, and it crossed his mind repeatedly. 

 

Finally, as the sun was setting, he gathered up the strength to head out and find LeFou.

 

Or so he’d thought.

 

As Gaston’s fist grabbed for the doorknob and he prepared to fling his front door open, a stab of fear went straight through him, and he hesitated.

 

Since when did _he,_ Gaston, hesitate? Never. But he _did_ , and turned from the door and went instead to dusty cabinet and threw that door open instead, grabbing for a large bottle of unopened whiskey inside.

 

He’d sat on his large armchair, taking large swigs from the bottle in the darkening room, fuming until his head grew fuzzy and his rage got more complex as it whirled about in his head. When there was enough left in the bottle to get him through the walk to the tavern and no more, he finally got to his feet and stomped out of his house towards the pub, not even bothering to lock the door behind him, finishing it off as he made his way through the streets of Villeneuve and smashing the empty bottle against a stone wall before he entered the tavern.

 

_It should have been simple._

 

His plan, the one he’d stewed on throughout the day, should have been straightforward and efficient, just like everything he did. Like taking out a deer or strategizing a wartime attack and seeing it through seamlessly.

 

Upon getting LeFou alone, he’d come right out with it, because there was no point in denying what he’d seen, what he knew.

 

He just had to get LeFou to _stop._ Scare him into stopping if he had to. Whatever it took. What he was doing- hands all over another man, tongue down his throat, _moaning_ into it like a wanton whore- it was obscene, utterly depraved and- and if Gaston, who’d known LeFou forever, who _loved_ him like a brother could feel such revulsion upon witnessing their behavior, he shuddered to think what the rest of the town would do if they found out.

 

He’d heard stories about it, about other villages where things like that went on. More importantly he’d heard how they  were _stopped,_ because such things were not to be tolerated in a moral society.

 

Back in the war, Gaston remembered, on a night of heavy drinking, it had come up, and soldiers had talked. Gaston had never even _heard_ of it before- of men doing that sort of thing with one another, never even considered it.

But the scathing way his comrades had spoken of it, he _knew_ it had to be true. He’d heard what happened to the men who were caught.

 

Villeneuve was a wonderful town- the greatest there was.

 

A fine place, full of fine people, but part of why it was fine because it had an _order t_ o it. Things were done as they were done, as they’d always been done.

 

It was _nice._ He’d been through larger villages in the war, small cities, even _Paris,_ which had been an abysmal place he’d rather never see again. Nowhere was better than Villeneuve, where everyone knew your name, where every day was the same, and good, and nice. It was a fine place, but a place where people didn’t care for change, or for anything odd or different.

 

What LeFou was doing- it was more than odd or different. It was sinful, unheard of and they simply couldn’t carry on that way.

 

 _It should have been simple,_ Gaston thought again, angrily, helplessly.

 

His head was still pounding, his parched mouth was desperate for a drink of water, but neither of those were important as fixing the mess of this whole ridiculous situation. He got to his feet and started looking about the room for his clothes, struggling into them.

 

If only LeFou had just _listened_ to him.

 

He told LeFou what to do _all the time_ . And LeFou did what he said _all the time._

 

That was the way it had always been. He was _Gaston_ , brilliant and charming. He had _good_ ideas, and LeFou was always happy to listen. LeFou always listened. He should have just fucking _listened!_

 

He should have just agreed that what he was doing was wrong, promised to _end_ it, to come back to Gaston and be _LeFou_ again and put the madness behind him and be safe and _normal._

 

But no- LeFou had been…he’d been...Gaston tried to remember, to think through the cloud of alcohol and pain… he’d been... _defiant._

 

LeFou hadn’t _wanted_ to stop, had flat out refused! He’d even defended that twisted little shit Stanley, with _ferocity_.

 

It had all been so maddening, and the whiskey was fuel for his disbelief and rage and it had gone wrong, so bloody wrong. Like a tiny lifeboat on a violent, stormy sea, Gaston’s real intention had been swallowed up, smashed to bits beneath towering waves of fury and fear.

 

There was just _one thing_ he’d wanted when he’d set out for the tavern.

 

The only thing ever really wanted.

 

To protect LeFou.

 

That was his only job- well, in addition to bringing meat into the village with his hunting prowess and being admired by everyone who saw him, of course- but protecting LeFou had always been the most important. When they were children. When they were soldier. Looking after LeFou... that was something he’d taken upon himself _years_ ago, years and years ago and something he’d thought he would always do.

 

Gaston could trace it right back, the day he’d taken up the post, could clearly picture the exact day when at seven or eight, he’d stepped in when a trio of older bullies had been hurting the shy, sweet lad he considered a good friend, and gotten bloodied up good for it.

 

It hadn’t mattered. Gaston had gotten in a few good punches himself, and though he hadn’t even come close to winning the fight, something in Gaston had scared them off. The boys never bothered LeFou again, and LeFou had _beamed_ at him like he was the sun and pressed his sleeve to Gaston’s bleeding wounds, helped him clean up at the stream with gentle hands and from that day on they were inseparable.

 

_Blood._

 

The memory jarred something else in him, and his hand came up to his mouth.

 

He winced as his fingertips brushed the place where LeFou had punched him- _slammed_ his fist into him with force so hard he’d gone down onto his arse with a painful thump. Gaston hadn’t taken a punch so hard since before he’d grown hair on his balls. _Christ,_ it still hurt.

 

But the image that suddenly seared into his head hurt far worse.

He’d lost track of much of the night, most of what had been said and done between his walk to the pub and the punch to his jaw. He had...vague...he knew he’d been furious and cruel and LeFou had been foolish and defiant, and there was anger and harsh words but it was all very blurry and muddled in his head.

 

But this. This came at him clear as glass - and when it hit him, it cut him like shards of it were being thrust into his chest.

 

_“Stay away from me, Gaston. Just stay the hell away from me.”_

 

He’d never seen that look in LeFou’s eyes before, directed at _anyone._ LeFou never had any anger in him, not for bullies, not for enemy soldiers, not for anyone. He was- he was too _good._

 

Gaston hadn’t thought his sweet, jovial, warm friend  even _capable_ of looking that way. But even if, even _if_ Gaston had the sort of imagination capable of picturing that expression, he never, in a million years, could have pictured it directed at _him._

 

But he’d said it. LeFou had _said_ it, _glared_ it at him through eyes full of anger, fear, hurt and pure _conviction._

 

He’d meant it. He’d really meant it.

 

Gaston had been pounding around the room with a manic energy, getting ready to go out and do _something._ He had one foot into his boot already and was about to start working on the other, but stopped suddenly as the impact of it hit him with the force of a battering ram.

 

LeFou meant it.

 

It was like his stomach had just turned to lead, and he felt bile rising in his throat that he knew could not be blamed on whiskey alone. He’d gone too far. He couldn’t see the rest- _didn’t want to see the rest-_ but whatever it was he’d said- _done-_ he’d gone too far.

 

LeFou didn’t want him. Didn’t want him anywhere near him.

  
Gaston felt heavy,  defeated. He swallowed down a painful lump in his throat, and kicked off his boot, which landed with a thud. He stared around the wrecked room, feeling more lost than he ever had in his entire life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, any and all thoughts make my day much brighter! Comments are love.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'm entirely grateful for the amazing, encouraging comments you all have left. I will try to get around to responding to them soon, but since it's been a while since I updated, I thought I would prioritize adding a new chapter. 
> 
> Seriously though, all of the support means the world to me. THANK YOU ALL.

A lot of heavy emotions weighed down on LeFou in the days that followed, but initially fear was chief among them.

He’d _hit_ Gaston. Defied him, refused him and _hit_ him hard in the face.

Yes, there had been a moment, amid all the drunken rambling where Gaston had made it clear he had no intention of exposing LeFou’s secret, but- well that was before everything else that happened. Gaston must be furious. It was the only thing he could think of. He had to be fuming, raging that LeFou had the audacity to hit him in his gorgeous face. He hadn’t been hit in _years._ Actual decades.

But though he spent several days on edge, expecting an angry mob at his door, or at least an enraged Gaston at his doorstep, fully intending to beat him senseless as revenge, it never happened. In fact, he didn’t see Gaston around _anywhere._ By the end of the first day, LeFou had decided there was no use in hiding. He would have to just go on as normal, and face the consequences when they came.

 

The thing is...they never came.

 

It was horribly confusing.

 

LeFou didn’t want to divulge to Stanley all the details of what happened, although he obviously knew something had, looking at LeFou with soft, questioning eyes. LeFou couldn't say the words aloud. He didn’t even want to remember.

It made him feel sick, disgusted, horrified and...sad. The man who had been his constant companion had _turned_ on him. A friendship of more than twenty years, reduced to nothing after one horrible night of painful words, disturbing advances and one unexpectedly hard punch to the face. It was a surreal nightmare, and he longed for it to disappear.

 

LeFou didn’t regret punching him, nor did he regret telling him to stay away. Gaston had been out of his mind, insane with anger and he’d been _frightening._ LeFou tried to picture the Gaston he’d known all his life now, and found he couldn’t. A cloud had come over it, a thick fog that seemed to block out all those memories of Gaston smiling, laughing, joking with him, and all he could see was that ugly sneer, the eyes flashing with rage and disgust.

 

There was sorrow in it, though, in losing this enormous chunk of his life. Two decades of memories, and Gaston had been in every single day of them. But a veil had been lifted and regardless of what might happen, LeFou knew the moment he left Gaston’s room that night that no matter what, there was no going back to what they were. He’d glimpsed a side of Gaston he didn’t know was there- maybe never wanted to acknowledge was there- and it was violent, ugly and nothing he wanted to be near ever again.

 

Stanley could feel the fear and anger and tension in him, and clearly knew that something had happened, but chose not to ask. Ever patient and supportive, he’d merely rubbed LeFou’s shoulders, kissed his head and his cheeks and murmured _you know that I am here_  and kissed him more.

 

LeFou waited for a confrontation that never came. At first it was deeply confusing.

 

Gaston was such a pivotal part of the town, striding through the little streets with gusto, winking at admirers, tipping his hat, hips all swagger and shoulders straight and strong. And then he was just- not there. For days, he was nowhere to be seen, and the tension of it was a torment.

At last, on the fifth day, LeFou saw him. Unsurprisingly, he was buying obscene amounts of dairy products from a stall and LeFou froze when he caught sight of him.

His heart pounded in his chest, and perhaps Gaston had felt eyes on him, because he looked up. Their eyes met for only a moment before Gaston lowered his eyes and turned back to the seller. LeFou saw him thrust coins into the old woman’s hands and take off through the crowd, shoulders hunched, head down.

 

There was a pang there he couldn’t deny, but LeFou also felt himself sag with relief.

So Gaston _wouldn’t_ tell the village, and he wouldn’t come at him in rage, seeking vengeance.

Both things were hard to believe, truly unexpected.

 

There was a third thing he thought might have happened, and he’d been just as terrified about that as the rest:

That Gaston might not remember. That he might pretend to forget.

He’d been drunker than LeFou had seen him since just after the war.

LeFou had felt ill imagining the third possibility, which was that Gaston might just- just pretend it had never happened.

The man, LeFou was forced to admit, had an ability to sink into his own delusions that was shocking. LeFou had worried that he might just proceed as normal, as if he’d never come at LeFou in blind rage, spouting hurtful, degrading words, looming over him, touching him with rough hands and glaring down through furious, clouded eyes.

 

He wouldn’t have been able to stand that.

 

After getting over the initial shock of Gaston...letting it be, LeFou decided it was best to just be grateful.

 

It was _freeing._ He no longer had to fear Gaston telling everyone about his degenerate ways, no longer had to worry about showing up at the tavern every night to avoid suspicion. Of course, he still went a few times a week, to sit with Stanley, Tom and Dick and a few others, to chat over a pint, but there was no longer a _need_ to do so. Sometimes they went to the other tavern in town, _Chateau Lafayette._

 

And sometimes, they didn’t go anywhere. They stayed at Stanley’s from dinnertime until dawn, and shared breakfast and kisses until LeFou pulled himself away to go help his gra-mere.

 

It was a little strange at first, but LeFou found himself sinking into the warmth and ease of this new life and allowed this new feeling of contentment to wash over him completely.

 

\---

 

Gaston, of course, was an entirely different story.

 

The days had never felt so damn _long_ before. They stretched on forever, they _crawled_ by and the tedium of it was almost as painful as the other things inside him.

 

After the war, when he returned to the quiet of village life, they had seemed long too, but he’d managed.

 

He’d managed because of LeFou.

 

He never realized before, what a role LeFou had played.

 

He never even stopped to _think_ about how vital his presence was, because- he’d just always been there. It never occurred to Gaston to consider his importance, just as it had never occurred to him to stop and think about how great it was that _air_ existed. It was just a part of things. _LeFou_ was a part of things.

 

And now he wasn’t. The emptiness of it was staggering and Gaston was at a loss for what to do.

 

_Go to him. Beg. Grovel. Fall on your knees and plead-_

 

 _No. You are_ Gaston _. You don’t_ grovel. _And besides, even if you... it wouldn’t fucking work anyway. He_ hates _you._

 

His head was suddenly a noisy place, and it was dreadful. He was a simple man of simple pleasures and for his whole life there’d only been one real voice inside him, clear and strong. Now there were dozens and they didn’t shut up and he wished they were _real_ instead of stupid voices in his head so he could pound them into silence.

 

He longed for the simplicity of days past.

 

By day, his thoughts were always fairly basic: hunting, fishing, tracking. _These tracks are large, it’s a buck, and look, there’s a lilt in the step here, it must be injured. Best put the thing out of its misery, right, and get a fine trophy out of it too. Blast. Wolves in the area. Hope the bastards didn’t get to it first. It’s_ mine, _you vile beasts. Ah, look, there it is. A beauty. Amazing shot as usual, this will fetch enough francs to keep us in drink for a long while, eh LeFou?_

 

By night, his thoughts were equally basic, though there was a shift in content: _Delicious ale, LeFou always knows just what to order, ah, look at Claudette tonight, think I’ll take her upstairs in a bit, she looks up for it- ah, the tavern’s good and full tonight, let’s see if LeFou will tell them about today’s hunt, it’s always better when he does the bulk of it and I can just jump in with a few bits here and there, I’m bored, but hey, the band’s lively tonight, might be a good night for some dancing, God, I need a piss-_

 

And now.

 

Now nothing was simple and nothing was right.

 

The days stretched on and on, and the joy had been sapped out of them.

 

LeFou really had been as crucial as the air in his lungs. It was a pitiful thought, maybe, but who else did he have? His parents were gone, had been gone a long time. He had no wife, no children. Everyone else was just- they liked him because he was strong and he could hunt, but other than that...they were just admiring faces.

 

LeFou was constant and vital, but now he was gone and Gaston had pushed him there.

 

Other than a bit of restlessness here and there, Gaston had been happy enough with his life. He had a roof over his head, a source of income, food and ale in his belly every night. But he’d _shared_ all of that with his best friend, his _brother,_ his kind, fun LeFou, and without him his once full life rather felt like a whole lot of nothing.

 

LeFou almost always came hunting with him, unless there was too much to do on his farm that day, or if Gaston was tracking a bear or wolf that had been causing trouble for the village, and he needed total stealth and concentration.

 

On normal days though, hundreds and hundreds of days, LeFou was there, riding with him, racing him, always losing but always laughing, moving through the woods a few steps behind him. Sure, LeFou could be noisy and had scared away more pheasants and deer than Gaston could count, but it had never mattered. Because he cheered with sheer joy whenever Gaston brought down an animal, and after the sun got high in the sky and most of the animals took refuge from the heat, he and LeFou would find a lake or river to sit at, and they’d eat bread and meat and cheese and talk about nothing, and usually go for a swim after before hauling the kills back to town.

 

Now though, LeFou was done with him. The first few days, after that awful night, Gaston had been too morose to do his duty, but eventually he pulled himself together enough to go out into the woods. He went out and hunted, because it was his job and the village needed the meat, but he always came back early, as soon as the game got scarce, because what was the point in sitting around at the river on your own, eating alone, swimming alone?

 

He still went to the tavern by nights, because it would be strange not to, and the quiet of his empty house was a torment. Gaston assumed people had questions, but no one dared to ask him what had happened with him and LeFou. He went to the tavern and drank heavily, and sat with groups of people who welcomed him readily, but no one had anything interesting to say. The girls were quick with compliments and praise, but they’d never actually _seen_ him hunt or lead troops in war like LeFou had, and none of the men were as funny as him, and all there really was to do with them was play cards, because everything else they did was dull and pointless.

 

He tried his best to appear normal.

 

It scared him to imagine what might happen otherwise, if people knew he felt so sad and broken and empty inside.

 

That was no way for a man to feel, especially not a man who’d seen war, who’d fought off a bear without a weapon and mounted its head on his wall. He’d never felt so weak and it shamed him.

 

No one could know.

 

When he was in town, he exchanged pleasantries with the people he ran into and tried to smile. He _did_ smile, and thought he managed to not seem too forced when he did so. When he sat at a table in the tavern and everyone burst into laughter, he laughed along too, loud and booming, though it was rare he’d actually heard a word they’d said.

 

He went through the motions, and he prayed no one noticed he was no longer the man he was.

 

Someone _did_ notice though. Someone couldn’t _help_ noticing.

 

And though it was something they very much intended to _ignore until it went away_ , Gaston was not a particularly easy man to ignore, and in spite of several screaming instincts to look away, found themselves drawn to the wreck of a human being who had taken to slumping his way through the village of Villeneuve with ache in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gaston needs an adult.
> 
> Guess who?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaston makes a friend. Kind of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to all who left such lovely, lovely comments! It was very fun seeing all your guesses. There were some really excellent points and ideas that I will have to think about, but here's the next chapter, and the answer. Hope you enjoy it!

When Gaston first stepped into the little bakery, Belle immediately tensed up, an old habit. It was a tiny shop, really just a counter with a few tables in the back, but she liked it and it was _hers._ She came here most afternoons. To get out of the house, to sit and have some tea, to read her book.

 

It was a _refuge._ From the stares of villagers who didn’t understand her, from the bustling streets, and most of all, a refuge from _him._ The man, during the height of his pursuit of Belle, had an awful knack for finding her wherever she went, accosting her at moments when she’d thought she was safe, interrupting her peace again and again with his ceaseless arrogance. One by one, the places in the village she could go had slipped away, but he’d never before managed to find her here, in this little shop where she always sat in the back corner and slipped into the magic of her books.

 

When she first saw him enter that day, a part of her even considered trying to run for it, until she realized there was no back exit, trying to slip past the large, imposing form of Gaston in the small space between the counter and the wall would be an exercise in futility. That cornered-rabbit feeling he always gave her swept over her, though unlike the poor rabbits he loved to shoot, Belle felt a great deal more annoyance than fear whenever he trapped her somewhere and forced interactions she very much did not want.

 

But that day, as she watched Gaston from over the top of her book, she thought with a flicker of confusion that something about him was much less imposing than usual. The way he was standing, perhaps, or the fact that though he was ordering something, his booming voice wasn’t ringing out through the entire bakery.

 

 _Odd,_ she thought, but decided to make herself as inconspicuous as she could in her corner of the shop and hope he’d just go away once he’d completed his purchase.  

 

He didn’t go away.

 

But he didn’t bother her either- and that was strange.

 

She tensed again when she heard him clunking towards the back of the shop, but he slumped into a chair and began tearing off chunks of a large loaf of bread, shoving them into his mouth and not even glancing at her. She allowed herself to feel a wave of relief, and went back to her book.

 

Or tried to.

 

He was so _distracting,_ she thought irritably. Perhaps he’d driven her so insane with his several months of relentless attempts to woo her, that she was now incapable of going about her business normally even when he wasn’t trying to annoy her.

 

She tried to concentrate on her story, one she’d read several times before, but found herself failing repeatedly.

 

Usually the only other patrons were older ladies who sat in and gossiped, and it was no trouble to just tune them out. Gaston was infinitely more difficult to ignore.

 

At first, she had the thought that maybe his presence did have something to do with her. He had been fairly scarce over the past few months, and she had begun to hope her supreme lack of interest had finally penetrated that thick skull of his, but Gaston wasn't the sort of man to sit about in a bakery in the middle of the day. She thought, initially, that perhaps he’d decided to renew his attempts to win her heart. 

 

That idea made her shudder, but the theory fell flat fairly quickly, because he didn’t so much as glance at her. Belle considered briefly that it might be part of some new ruse to win her affections- situating himself close by but not trying to get her attention, perhaps hoping she would come to him, but no. He was neither clever or patient enough to pull off something so elaborate.

 

She ought to have just been glad he wasn’t paying her any attention, and pay him none back, but for some unholy reason, Belle couldn’t stop her eyes from wandering away from the intricate prose of her book and over to the man she’d spent so much time avoiding.

 

He just looked so _sad._

 

It wasn’t an expression she’d ever seen on his handsome yet infuriating face. She’d seen him haughty, arrogant, proud. She’d seen him looking deeply impressed whenever he caught a glimpse of his own reflection. She’d seen him puzzled and annoyed when she tried to explain her love of reading (when they’d first met, before she realized how useless such efforts were). She’d seen him put out, irate, and frustrated when she refused his attempts at courtship.

 

But she’d never seen him sad.

 

And he was more than just sad. Everything about his body-language was deeply, undeniably morose. He was pitiful.

 

_Lonely._

 

That, perhaps, was the magnet that drew her to him against her will. Belle knew the feeling all too well.

 

Ever since she and her father had moved to Villeneuve, she’d felt it to her core, and escaping into her books could only allow her to ignore it so much. Her father and Pere Robert were the only two people in the entire village who even came close to understanding her, and she’d always felt such a longing for something more. It hurt, to look around the village and see so many contented faces, people smiling, chatting, gossiping and knowing exactly where they fit.

 

Gaston had, as far as she’d known, fit in better than _anyone._ Hero of the town, as he’d told her so often it made her groan. There were portraits of him. There was an actual _statue_ of him. He was the object of every young maid’s affections, and the envy of every young man in the village. How could he be _lonely?_

 

Despite the fact that she very much did not want to think about Gaston, her brain was buzzing with curiosity, and in spite of herself, she found herself thinking about the times she’d seen him about town over the past week. He’d moved through the streets quickly, not really looking at anyone, barely reacting to any greetings thrown his way. She hadn’t given it much thought at the time, but now she realized how truly downtrodden he’d appeared. How alone.

 

That was the strange thing. _Where was LeFou?_

 

She tried to think of all the times she’d seen Gaston _without_ LeFou in all the time she’d lived here, and they were few and far between. Even when Gaston came after Belle, to try his clumsy hand at wooing her, LeFou had often been waiting not far away, probably much more aware than Gaston was that he wouldn’t find success. How many times had she seen Gaston’s dearest friend patting his arm or rubbing his shoulders after she politely but firmly expressed her lack of interest?

 

As much as it puzzled her why a seemingly decent fellow like LeFou would be friends with such a boorish idiot, a part of her had always slightly envied their friendship. She and papa had moved about so much, and she’d never found anyone she could get as close to as they seemed to be. She thought about how many times Gaston had stomped away from her rejections, scowling and confused, only to laugh his way down the street with Lefou a few moments later.

 

Belle frowned.

 

She certainly hadn’t seen them together in a while. She went through it in her head and yes, every time she’d seen Gaston lately he’d been alone.

 

What could have happened? Belle scolded herself for being so nosy. Hadn’t she always lamented how gossipy the village was? And here she was, theorizing about two people she barely even knew.

 

She forced her attention back to her book. This wasn’t her business.

 

Gaston might be radiating misery, but- well, even if he and LeFou had gone through some sort of falling out, she was the last person who should be getting involved. Surely one the the patrons of the tavern would be better suited, or perhaps some infatuated girl who would do anything to be a shoulder to cry on.

 

She’d only _just_ managed to get him to stop pursuing her. If she reached out, it would not be at all surprising if he interpreted that to mean Belle was finally ready to marry him and bear a dozen of his large children.

 

No. She would just have to leave it be.

 

And yet, after about an hour of failing to make any sort of progress in her book, her feet seemed to lead her to his table of their own accord. Before she could rationalize out a reason to stop, she was standing over him, looking down at the most pitiful scene she could imagine. He was half-slumped over the table, and he’d poured a considerable amount of salt onto the tablecloth. He was drawing pictures in it with large fingers, absentmindedly, his mouth pouty and his eyes...so unbelievably sad.

 

“Bonjour, Gaston,” she found herself saying, and she cringed at herself for opening a door that she might never be able to close.

 

“What?” he said, startled, looking up at her and blinking a bit. “Belle?” he asked, before he seemed to shake himself out of his stupor. “Belle! How are you today? Fine day, isn’t it?” He was so _loud._

 

“I’m fine, thank you. How are you?” Belle asked it softly, wondering if he’d understand she would listen to a real answer. That she _wanted_ a real answer. Probably not.

 

“Wonderful, of course!” he said, flashing perfect teeth at her. “You’re looking well, as always.”

 

Belle fought down the instincts that screamed at her to run before it was too late, and made herself say, “Are you sure? I, um, I noticed you seemed a little bit down these days. Is...is everything alright?”

 

He stared at her, and she saw what could only be described as anguish flicker across his features, but it was momentary, and then he was laughing loudly. “Of course it is! Why wouldn’t it be? A perfect day in a perfect town, right?”

 

Belle sighed. Right. Well, if he wasn’t interested in saying something truthful, there wasn’t much point in sticking around. It had been a foolish idea anyway, expecting to have a conversation with Gaston that wasn’t shallow and frustrating.

 

“Mhhmm,” she said. “Well, if there’s nothing wrong, I suppose I should be getting along. Good day, Gasto-”

 

“Wait!” he said, and reached out, grabbing her wrist. She turned to him in surprise and anger, but as soon as she saw his expression, the anger disappeared and her surprise multiplied. There was a desperate vulnerability there that was staggering. “You- you could sit for a bit,” he said tentatively. Gaston? _Tentative?_ She stared at him in disbelief. “I mean, if you like.”

 

The lack of demand was what got her. His presumptuousness had always been one of his most irritating qualities, but there was none of it there now. He appeared _fragile,_ something she never could have imagined. He seemed more a lost little boy than the arrogant grown man she’d once spent so much energy avoiding.

 

Though the urge to flee was still there, Belle found herself nodding. “Alright,” she said. “Perhaps for a little while.” She watched him sag with relief, and as she slid down onto the chair across from him, a deep feeling of awkwardness blanketed the table.

 

For a long while, Belle couldn’t think of a thing to say. Usually it was Gaston leading the conversation, loudly and annoyingly, and she was just doing her best to end it swiftly. Now he was half-looking at her, mutely, still fiddling with the salt.

 

“So, um, was I right? In- in guessing you’ve been a bit sad lately?” she asked at last.

 

Gaston frowned at her. “I’m not _sad,”_ he said, almost angrily. “I’m-”

 

He stopped abruptly, buried his face in massive hand and made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a growl.

 

“I don’t know what I am,” he said mumbled into his palm.

There was a brief, somewhat painful silence, but when he looked back at her, his expression was confident again. “So, you’ve been looking at me, have you? That’s...well it’s about time, Belle!” His chin jutted out, and he leaned back in his chair. It was the same kind of thing he’d said to her a hundred times before, and Belle would be furious if it wasn't abundantly clear his heart wasn’t in it.

 

Still, his falseness was rather annoying and Belle glared at him. “ _Gaston._ I’m trying- for reasons I cannot fully comprehend- to be nice to you. If you’re going to be _obnoxious,_ I will gladly take my leave of you.”

 

The cocky expression he’d been trying to hold fell at once. “Don’t,” he said gruffly, then softened. “Uh. Please. I don’t know why I said that.” He sighed again, heavily, and Belle sighed back. A part of her wished he _would_ keep up his act, give her an excuse to leave. Gaston had been extremely difficult every time she’d ever had to deal with him, and today was no different.

 

Belle knew she wasn’t leaving. Not yet. Still not knowing quite what to say, she nodded. She watched Gaston. Everything about him was stiff and rigid, but there was nervous energy beneath the surface. It became clear quickly that Gaston was not going to offer up any information willingly, and Belle realized if she wanted this to go anywhere, she was going to have to be blunt.

 

“Do you want to tell me what’s troubling you?” she asked.

 

He blinked at her, then bowed his head. “Not really,” he mumbled, and she sighed. He was so frustrating, even as the object of her pity.

 

“I’ve noticed you haven’t been spending much time with LeFou lately,” she said, because it was the only thing she could think of that had him so down, and being direct seemed like the only way to end this torture she’d brought upon herself. His head snapped up. “Did something happen between you two?”

 

“I don’t want to talk about that!” he barked. She raised an eyebrow at his anger, which had been loud enough to draw the attention of Madame Brigitte, who glanced at them over the counter. He slumped down in his chair a bit, eyes darting around the bakery as if he'd only just realized his volume.

 

“Very well,” Belle said curtly. “Is there something you _do_ want to talk about?”

 

He stared at her, bit his lip, fidgeted with a napkin, looked away, looked back at her again. Good  _Lord,_ he was a mess. 

 

“Not really,” he mumbled at last. 

 

“Right. Well, I have a book here that I’ve been reading. It's very good. Would you like me to read some of it to you?”

 

Gaston wrinkled his nose in revulsion. “Absolutely not!” he said with a laugh of disbelief. She glared at him, and he seemed to quail under it. “I mean,” he coughed. “Thank you for the offer, Belle. But no, that’s quite alright.”

 

She sighed heavily. This was truly, painfully awkward and going nowhere. “Shall I just go then?” she asked again, praying that this interaction was as painful for him as it was for her, and relieve her of the agony.

 

Gaston shook his head. “No! You should- you should stay,” he said quietly. “I mean, if you want to.” 

 

There it was again. That  _loneliness._ It was a mirror of her own. It tugged at her heart and made her nod despite a thousand misgivings.

 

“Alright. I will. But I’m not just going to stare at you in silence for an indeterminate amount of time, Gaston. I’m going to read my book,” she said, and placed it on the table.

 

“Alright,” he said, looking very relieved. He even offered a flicker of a smile. “Sure. Go right ahead,” he said. “Enjoy it.”

 

Belle was feeling the physical effects of the awkwardness now, and tried not to visibly cringe as she nodded and opened her book. What was the _point_ of it? She read, and he sat, and played with his salt, and after a while pulled out a piece of wood that he seemed to be carving into the shape of an animal. He wasn’t far enough in the process that she could tell what it was supposed to be, but it had four legs.

 

She had no idea what he could be getting out of this, but he did appear _slightly_ less pitiful as they sat together. Belle read several chapters, constantly aware of how strange the whole thing was, and wondering what the appropriate length of time to stay would be without hurting his feelings. That thought was very strange indeed- that Gaston had feelings to hurt. She was quite aware he had certain feelings such as anger and pride, but this newfound knowledge that there were others beneath the surface was still hard to wrap her head around.

 

At the end of a particularly good chapter, the first she’d actually been able to sink into and enjoy without a hyper-awareness of the distracting Gaston, she closed her book.

 

“Well, I’d best be getting home now. I need to get dinner started.”

 

“Oh,” Gaston said, with a flicker of disappointment. He glanced out the window of the bakery. “Yes, it is getting late. I suppose I’ll head out too.”

 

He stood up and they walked towards the door. Belle scrunched up her face, hoping with all her heart he wouldn’t invite himself to dinner once again, but when they stepped out into the afternoon sun, he merely said, “Have a pleasant evening, Belle,” and strode away before she could even get out a “You too.”

\---

 

Belle spent much of the evening marveling at the strangeness of the day, and mentally chastising herself for willingly bringing such extreme awkwardness into her life. It hadn’t been quite as bad as she thought it might be, but still, the entire interaction was ineffective and bizarre, and she was very, very glad it was over.

 

Except it wasn’t.

 

The next day, she was sitting in the bakery again, in her quiet corner, engrossed in the climax of her book, when a change in the light told her someone was standing over her. Sure enough, it was the hulking form of Gaston, blocking out the sun.

 

“Good morning, Belle,” he said, and promptly took a seat across from her.

  
She stared at him with barely concealed horror. _What on earth had she gotten herself into?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it seems poor Belle is a part of this story now, and she probably hates me for that, but what can I say? Gaston cannot be trusted to navigate his life alone.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaston and Belle attempt to have a talk. It's really more of a shout, all things considered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my lovelies! 
> 
> I must thank you all for the lovely reviews, the warm encouragement and most of all your patience between chapters! 
> 
> I don't have time to give this thing a read-through for typos/general improvement at the moment, so I hope it's not too much of a mess. I will try to clean it up a bit in the next few days, but I think I've kept people waiting long enough for an update.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, with his usual lack of volume control. “And I- I think I _would_ like to- to talk. A bit. About LeFou. I...I feel like I might lose my mind if I don’t tell someone.”

 

“I see,” Belle said, cautious. “And you’ve chosen me, as the person to share with…” It was hard to wrap her head around it. This was perhaps even more bizarre than his attempts to woo her, though as she recalled those uncomfortable advances, she is grateful that if she must speak to him, it no longer seems to be about her having half a dozen of his large children.

 

“Well, yes,” he replied, with a slight frown. “Only- well- I’d need your word that you...you wouldn’t _tell_ anyone what I’m about to tell you.”

 

Belle was too puzzled by the secrecy to respond at first. Gaston had always been infuriatingly open, not afraid to express any thought or opinion no matter who stupid or offensive it was. That there was something he didn’t want shared made her more than a little bit curious.

 

Just was she was about to express that yes, of course, she would keep anything he told her private, Gaston let out a sudden, loud burst of laughter.

 

“Who am I kidding? Who would you possibly tell?”

 

It took concerted effort not to throw her book at him. Considering the thickness of his skull, it seemed more likely the book would take damage than him though, so she decided against it. Instead, she fixed him with a withering glare. “That was unnecessarily rude.” He looks surprised, like he hadn’t even realized what he’d said could be in any way hurtful.

 

“Though not, I suppose, far from the truth,” she sighed. “Very well, Gaston. I won’t speak of whatever it is you might have to say.”

 

“Right. Thank you. I would appreciate that,” he said, somewhat stiffly. He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I’m not- I’m trying to figure out where to start…”

 

“At the beginning is generally best,” she offered.

 

“Uh. Alright. Well, LeFou and I have been friends since we were boys. As far back as I can remember, it was the two of us. Causing diversions to escape school, running about in the woods, setting traps for game, building forts out of fallen trees-”

 

Belle cleared her throat, fighting back a shred of amusement at how very literal the man before her was. “Er- perhaps not that far back. Not that it isn’t...sweet to hear about your long friendship, but well- it’s clear enough to anyone with eyes that you are as thick as thieves. I rather meant… the beginning of the trouble?”

 

Perhaps it was rude to cut him off, but she was intrigued enough that she didn’t quite need to hear him go on and on about LeFou following him around and carrying his dead rabbits for an hour.

 

She wanted to know what on earth had happened between them! LeFou, she’d always thought, was perhaps the most tolerable thing about Gaston. She never did talk to him much herself, but he was certainly much more intelligent than Gaston, and had sparked amusement in her with witty comments now and then.

 

“Uh. Well- I suppose _that_ all started when I noticed- he wasn’t _around_ as much. It was very odd. He and I always spent our nights in the tavern together. He’d stay as long as I wanted to- half the time he had to put me to bed, the poor blighter, no easy task I’m sure,” he said, with a brief flicker of warm amusement, before his expression darkened. _Saddened._

 

“But then...it started to change. He spent less time with me than he ever had before. Sometimes he didn’t even come to the tavern at all. His excuses were thin- things like his grandmother being ill, when I could plainly see she was as healthy as a horse…” he muttered, and again that nervous hand was rubbing at the back of his neck.

 

Belle felt herself starting to work out an explanation as he spoke.

 

“But he was always either not there, or taking off early. I don’t like being lied to,” he said with a bit of a growl. “Least of all by- by the person I’m closest to. So I decided to follow him,” Gaston said, casting looks around the empty bakery.

 

“I think I see where this is heading,” Belle said when he paused, looking deeply unhappy.

 

He let out a harsh, bitter laugh, “I can assure you, you definitely don’t.”

 

Belle blinked. “So he hasn’t...found himself a girl, then?”

 

It was what she’d been thinking. Gaston stared at her, his face twisting, almost as though he was in pain. He didn’t answer.

 

“Because if that’s the case, I’m sure you’ll have his attention back soon enough. And if you care about him as much as I think you do, surely you must try to be happy for h-”

 

“Belle, stop,” he said, swiftly, forcefully. She did, more out of surprise than a willingness to do as he commanded. “That’s not it.”

 

“Alright,” she muttered. “Fine. I’ll let you get on with it.”

 

He didn’t though. Just stared at her, hesitant. “I have your word?” He asked quietly. “Your promise, that you won’t say anything? Not even to your father?”

 

His earnestness and obvious fear was surprising to her. She disliked the idea of keeping anything from her father, who was truly all she had in the world, but now she simply had to know. “Yes, Gaston. I promise.”

 

“That night, when I followed him, I did not find him with a woman,” he said. He lowered his voice even further, although the baker was well out of earshot. “I found him with _man_.”

 

“Oh,” Belle said, eyes widening a bit. Gaston leaned towards her, expectant. He’d clearly anticipated a bigger reaction from her, and sighed angrily when she didn’t expand upon it.

 

“ _Oh?”_ he growled. “Is that all you have to say?”

 

“I just...I suppose it makes quite a bit of sense,” she said quietly.

 

“WHAT?” Gaston exploded. “What do you mean it _makes sense?”_

 

Belle gave a nod toward the counter, where the baker had stood up and was looking at them curiously. “I intend to keep my word to you, Gaston,” she said coolly. “However, it might be all for nothing if you continue your brainless shouting.”

 

Gaston whipped his head around, panicked. He was very much on edge, but the baker saw him staring and immediately went back to work, clearly intimidated.

 

He turned around slowly and then hissed, “ _What do you mean, it makes sense?”_

 

Belle sighed. “I’m not sure I can explain it, exactly. Only that as soon as you said it, I realized I felt no surprise.”

 

“How are you- how are you being so _neutral_ about this?” he asked, incredulous and clearly annoyed.

 

Belle shrugged. “I don’t really know LeFou,” she said. “I don’t think I have much right to an opinion on his personal life. Though as I was saying before, I do believe we should be _happy_ for our friends when they’ve found someone-”

 

“You can’t be serious!” Gaston sputtered, getting loud once more. “You’re not truly suggesting what I think you’re- Belle, I always knew you were a touch _strange_ in the head, but this is- I cannot believe the way you’re reacting to-”

 

His hands rifled furiously through his hair, tugging it, his eyes flashing through a series of emotions, none of which even approached neutral.

 

“Maybe you- maybe you misunderstood me. I hate to...to be more explicit in the company of a young woman such as yourself, but Belle. He was _with_ a man. They were...they were being intimate. In ways that...that men shouldn’t,” he said, and again, she saw pain and confusion all over his features. His face couldn’t hide _anything._

 

She felt a touch of sympathy. It was clear all his negative feelings were clearly coming from a place of concern for LeFou, but still- he seemed to be trying to get her to express opinions she did _not_ have, and she would not pretend to.

 

“I am perfectly aware of the implications, Gaston. But it’s not my business-”

 

“But don’t you think it’s _wrong?”_ he asked, and not for the first time since she’d known him, he appeared almost childlike. He was clearly desperate for her to say yes. She would not.

 

“No, I don’t,” she said calmly. Then she gave him a long, pointed stare. “Do _you?”_

 

“Of course I do,” he hissed. “I- I’ve been to _church_ , Belle. I may have skipped it more often than I should have done, especially in the months where the hunting’s particularly good, but I- I _know_ what the facts are about such things. It’s- it’s not even a matter of opinion, Belle, it’s simply- it’s the way it is. That sort of behavior- that deviancy- it’s not right. I mean- you read books. It’s written into it. It’s not what...it shouldn’t be done.”

 

Belle sighed. She was not comfortable with this conversation at all, and hated herself for being nosy enough to get herself into it at all. It wasn’t fair, talking about a man who wasn’t there, a man she barely knew, listening to Gaston judging him.

 

Belle shook her head, “There are several passages in that book you speak of. Not all of them are entirely pleasant, but I’m rather of fond of ‘ _judge not, that ye be not judged.’_ If LeFou has found someone, I think it’s quite lovely, actually,” she said, ferocity working its way into her tone.

 

“In fact, I can relate quite well how he must have felt, if this is who he truly is. I know perfectly well what it’s like, not to fit in, not to feel understood, to feel _alone._ If he’s found someone that he can be happy with, I think that very fine. And I think you’re quite awful, Gaston, to speak ill someone you’ve been friends with for so long,” she added, crossing her arms.

 

He slammed a fist onto the table, making all the items on it jump and clatter, making Belle jump too. “That is so _typical_ of you, Belle. Your head really is lost up on some cloud, isn’t it? It is _because_ I care about the fool that I’m- Belle you do realize no one else in this village would take the same view? I thought you were supposed to be _intelligent.”_

 

Belle shook her head. “Gaston, that’s not… Pere Robert would take a kind view, I’m sure. He takes a view that God loves us all, and that so long as we are kind, and treat others well, we’ll find a place in his-”

 

Gaston let out a sound that seemed a mix of a snort and a growl. “ _Ah, yes._ Pere Robert. Like you, Belle, that man is not _from_ this village. He doesn’t understand and neither do you. People aren't all going to be as easily swayed by his big city ideas as you are. Our last priest made it more than clear enough, and every villager heard him say it. This sort of thing _isn’t done._ ”

 

He got that helpless look on his face again, and even though all of Belle’s ideas about morality were riled up and she was feeling flush with the heat of arguing for something she felt passionate about, she found herself softening.

 

Gaston may not have had the mental capabilities of rising above indoctrination, _of thinking for himself,_ but it seemed clear to her in that moment that he had a heart beating in his chest, and that it was full of fear. Not for himself, but for his friend.

 

“You’re worried about him,” she said softly.

 

He gave her an ugly, angry look, “Of course I am. I live in the real world, where it makes _sense_ to be worried about him. Belle, if anyone finds out…”

 

“LeFou is a sensible man,” she said, trying to be soothing. “I am sure he’ll be careful-”

 

“ _I_ saw him, didn’t I? And- and how did it even _happen,_ anyway? How did they find each other? What if this Sta-- this man whose chosen to corrupt tires of him, and decides to cast him off? What if he goes sniffing about for- for what he likes and chooses wrong? He could be killed,” Gaston said, and Belle felt a proper ache for him then. She thought perhaps, he might be overreacting, some, but now that it was clear he wasn’t speaking out of hatred or anger, but fear, her compassion for him had reached a new height.

 

“I can understand your fears, Gaston, although I don’t think it’s quite as bad as you might think,” she said quietly. “But LeFou is a grown man, capable of making his own decisions. Perhaps he feels it’s worth some risk, if it allows him to live truthfully. To be himself. To be happy.”

 

“He _was_ happy,” Gaston hissed through gritted teeth. “We were perfectly happy. We spent our days in the woods and our nights in the tavern, and everything was sensible and just as it should be. Then that- that rat had to come along and- and ruin everything. To _change_ him.”

 

Belle felt her eyebrows raise a little at the look of seething anger that came over his features as he talked about...Stanley. That was what he’d almost said, before, and that too, seemed to make sense to her. In fact, she felt a thrum of happiness at the thought. She didn’t know him much either, but he seemed quite kind, and he was handsome. She could envision them doing well together.

 

Gaston clearly shared no such warm thoughts. He might only be worried about LeFou, but his feelings towards the man who’d stolen his dearest friend away were clearly bordering on hatred.

 

“Gaston, I don’t think whoever this person is could have led LeFou into anything he didn’t want to do. You clearly mean the world to him, Gaston, and if this is the path he’s chosen, perhaps you can find it in yourself to be happy for him? That he’s found someone who can give him things that you can’t?” she said it quietly, tentatively, knowing it was a risk, considering how much anger he was harboring about it all.

 

“I never thought...I thought he _had_ everything he wanted,” Gaston muttered, gripping the edge of the wooden table hard enough to turn his knuckles white. “I thought it would always just be _us._ Drinking together. Singing. Hunting. Laughing.”

 

Disbelief mingled with her sympathy. “Really, Gaston? Did you really think that? What about- say I _had_ agreed to marry you, or...or you move on and married someone else. Did you expect LeFou to just follow you right into a marriage? To live with you and your wife? To continue to be at your beck and call? To never find intimacy of his own?”

 

She grew annoyed on LeFou’s behalf. She couldn’t help it. It was the same sort of boorish, presumptuous attitude he’d had when talking about the marriage he envisioned for the two of them, expecting everything to be laid at his feet and feeling as though that’s what he deserved. Selfish. That glaring flaw of his shone brightly at her in the moment.

 

“I...I don’t know,” he muttered. “I just...assumed- I-”

 

“That’s not fair,” Belle said, meaning it, and she was stunned to see something resembling shame cross his features.

 

“I suppose not. It’s just- I can’t see how such a life would _appeal_ to him. To tie himself to that...it’s ridiculous. I wish he’d just- come to his senses and stop- stop being with-”

 

Belle watched him floundering and tried to figure out what this particular thread of conversation meant. This wasn’t his fear for LeFou’s life on display, nor did she think it was disgust at his lifestyle either. Not exactly. Not entirely.

 

That tortured look was painted on his face again, and despite knowing that it was perhaps the wrong moment, the wrong way to do it, and very much akin to poking an injured bear, Belle found herself saying. “It sounds to me like you might be jealous.”

 

Predictably, he exploded in a rage. “WHAT?” he roared, loud enough that a fellow patron, a well-dressed woman standing at the counter, squealed in fright. “That’s- that is- that is completely ridiculous.”

 

He jumped to his feet, almost knocking the table over in his fury. Belle reached out to steady it, eyes flashing with anger and a touch of fear- not that Gaston will hurt her, but more than she’d be collateral damage in his explosion of temper.

 

“Belle, this entire conversation has been- a complete waste of time. You- clearly don’t understand anything. About _anything,”_ he growled, shaking a finger at her.

 

She had felt many things for Gaston in the course of their conversation, but at that moment, she found her compassion drowned out by anger. But she would not express it as he was.

 

Instead, she folded her arms across her chest and gave him a perfectly neutral look. “If that’s what you think,” she said, nodding towards the door.

  
“It _is,”_ he huffed, turning on his heel and crossing the small shop with his massive strides, making the woman at the counter plaster herself against it in a terrified attempt to make room for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, he's an idiot. But not to worry. He may be repeatedly crashing and burning, but it's not the end for him. Nor is it the end of Belle's role in this madness. 
> 
> Thanks again for all the patience and all the love you guys send. It means so much to me. I'll try to update again at the weekend!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaston has a therapy session with the incredibly patient Dr. Belle.

“Alright,” Gaston said, sidling up to her table and dropping into the chair across from her. “I suppose I am a bit- jealous.” The last word came out with some difficulty, but he crossed his bulging arms across his chest, defiant. “I don’t think it’s all that strange, really,” he added, jaw tight.

 

Because it _wasn’t_! It had been just the two of them for years and years and years. It was only natural to feel... put out by such a sudden, unexpected change.

 

Belle had been engrossed in her book, but glanced up as he walked over to her table. As he spoke, she watched him, her expression hard to read. When he stopped speaking, she said nothing for a long while, and Gaston found himself fighting not to fidget in his seat.

 

After a few moments of her silence, he started to detect a hint of controlled anger in her eyes, and tried to go on, uncomfortable with the quiet. “I also don’t think- it’s not in any- any strange sort of way that you might be thinking. Just- a normal amount of... ugh. It doesn't matter. I'm just saying, I agree there was some truth in what you said.”

 

Belle gave him another long, cool look before saying, “Alright, then. I’m glad you’ve got it figured out.”

 

Well. He’d certainly hoped they might be able to just move on and ignore the...tail end of their conversation from yesterday, but clearly Belle isn’t happy with him.

 

“You’re...still angry with me. About yesterday,” he said, more tentative than usual.

 

She narrowed her eyes. She had a knack for making him feel like the stupidest man alive with some of her looks, “Would you really expect otherwise, after the way you spoke to me? Insulting me? Storming off? Nearly knocking over a table?”

 

He looked away for a moment, cowed by her anger as he replayed the scene in his mind. He had...overreacted. He did know that. He often did. He’d never had much control over his temper, and no one had ever really asked him to do so. He was who he was, and people loved him enough to overlook any- he hesitated to even think the word- _flaws_ he might have.

 

Not Belle.

 

Months ago, when he’d been relentlessly pursuing her, he’d been aware of as much and had assumed the strange girl would come around, and soon see all of his best qualities for what they were. He hadn’t worried about it much, confident that she was only playing hard to get, that the balance would shift soon enough and she’d let go of her misgivings.

 

Sitting across from her in the bakery, under her angry gaze, he was aware of how much things had shifted between them. His confidence that he could fix it was at a low, his worry at a high. Which was strange. He’d given up the idea of courting her a while back, and hadn’t even thought about it at all since the fallout with LeFou, but he did feel a sort of panic rising up as he considered she might not want to speak to him again after his outburst.

 

He _wanted_ to speak to her. Everything about their conversation had been infuriating- she had so many things _so wrong-_ or so he’d felt when he’d stormed off. Yet he’d gone over their words again and again in his head all night and he’d had to admit she wasn’t entirely wrong about everything.

 

Belle was smart, even if her mind worked oddly. She was kind, even if was touched with the sort of lofty idealism he found ridiculous, laughable. She was patient- although it seemed he may have pushed her to a limit just now.

 

He had to fix it. He had so much more to say, and there wasn’t anyone else he could say it to. If she decided he wasn't worth her time, he'd be on his own again, drifting. He felt like he was  _getting_ somewhere when he talked to her, even if he didn't exactly know where it might be. It was better than stumbling through his days listlessly. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “You- you caught me off guard. I was angry. I wasn’t thinking.”

 

She continued to glare at him for a moment, before her expression softened into something more resigned. “Do you ever?” she sighed.

 

Gaston forced himself not to bristle at the insult. He was on thin ice with her, and he couldn’t push it. She seemed to appreciate humility and for some reason, instead of being repulsed when he showed weakness, almost seemed to think _better_ of him for it. It made no sense to him, but that was Belle. Odd as odd can be.

 

He lowered his gaze. “I try,” he said. “I _do._ Sometimes it- it just takes me a while.” It felt strange to say it. Gaston was aware, though he didn’t like to dwell on it much, that he could be slow to process things. Information. Feelings.

 

It seemed perhaps he had finally picked up on some truth about Belle though, because as soon as he said it, some of the stiffness seemed to go out of her shoulders. The corner of her mouth seemed to twitch like she might want to smile and her brown eyes seemed quite a bit warmer.

 

“Right. Well. Perhaps I _could_ have tried to make it sound less like an accusation when I asked you,” she said. “To feel jealousy is... is a natural feeling, after all the time you’ve spent together- what a big part of your life the friendship is.”

 

He wasn’t sure he believed her, entirely.

Part of what had made him so furious, yesterday, was that he’d been certain she meant jealousy of another kind...something beyond the acceptable confines of friendship. And though he’d been making every effort to keep such thoughts at bay, perhaps she wasn’t entirely wrong.

 

He just kept seeing flashes of it- of _them-_ together in his mind’s eye.

LeFou. Stanley. 

Sometimes it was the actual memories of what he’d seen. The way they’d kissed in the street, laughing together. The way their laughter had rung out in the chilly night air. He’d never heard LeFou laugh so much with someone other than him.

He replayed what he’d seen through the window, until he couldn’t stand to look any longer- LeFou splayed flat on the bed of another man, head thrown back in pleasure, as Stanley had slowly started to relieve his torso of clothing, pulling off his cravat and _diving_ at his neck as soon as the flesh there was exposed, as though he wanted to devour him. He pictured Stanley's delicate hands taking his time with LeFou's buttons, drawing it out, grazing fingertips across his chest as LeFou’s hands came up to tangle in his hair....

As Stanley had trailed kisses lower and lower down his body, Gaston had been unable to stay. He couldn't watch any more, but sometimes, against his wishes, he imagined what he might have witnessed if he had stayed.

 

 _Which was things that were wrong._ Disgusting. Perverse.

 

They had been his first thoughts, upon seeing them, but that gut reaction seemed to be fading, in spite of his efforts to cling to scorn.

 

Belle wasn’t much help, he thought, irately, with all her talk of being happy LeFou was happy, her modern ideas about morality.

 

Because LeFou _was_ happy with Stanley.

Gaston had seen that with his own eyes. He’d seen that in his expressions, in the soft look in his eyes as he'd threaded his fingers through Stanley's hair. He'd heard it in the way LeFou laughed his way through the cold with Stanley at his side (and  _moaned_ against his mouth, pressed up against a wooden door). 

When Gaston thought about them now, there was a _tug_ inside him that he couldn’t fully understand. It was beyond crazy, but he had to admit it resembled jealousy much more than revulsion at this point. He did what he could to squash such thoughts down.

 

It wasn’t even what mattered now, anyway.

 

LeFou would probably never speak to him again, and was well within his rights to do so if that was his choice.

Gaston still couldn’t access all his memories of that night- had he _really_ been too drunk, or was he just afraid to unearth the truth… He shuddered, just as he always did when his mind went down that road. The horror such thoughts brought to him was infinitely more powerful than the horror he’d felt at catching LeFou and Stanley together, that much he knew.

 

Belle was staring at him, almost alarmed.

He supposed all his anguish had been written on his face as his thoughts ran away with him. He never had been much good at masking what he was thinking.

 

“Oh, Gaston,” she said quietly. Her hand came out to rest against his, and Gaston tried to slip out of his aching feelings to focus on the strange humor of this situation. Here was Belle, willingly reaching out to touch him, something he was desperate for months ago. Had she done it then, he’d have probably felt a rush of triumph, victory. Instead, he felt more vulnerable than ever- yet there was a swell of warmth in it. “I can see there’s a lot going on in there. And I do understand why. Please- do tell me more about it. We never even got to- well, it’s clear you and LeFou aren’t speaking. Would you care to tell me why?”

 

Gaston balked at that.

He _did_ need to talk about it. He was sure that even with how out there her ideas were Belle would have some useful things to say about it. And even just- confessing some of it seemed important. Right now it felt like a vine, creeping through his gut, wrapped around his heart, his lungs, squeezing the life out of him.

 

She’d probably hate him, by the end, but he had to try to tell her what he could.

 

“Yes. I- it’s not a nice story,” he said, grinding his teeth, fiddling with his fingernails, trying to scratch away at the dirt underneath them, not wanting to look into the soft brown eyes of someone so much better, kinder, than he could ever be. “And everything about it is my fault.”

 

Belle surprised him by reaching out to touch his hand again. They were held even closer to his body now, and she had to stretch to reach him. With gentle fingers, she pried his busy hand away from the other and placed it gently on the table, resting hers on top of it for a few moments until he looked at her again. “I think your willingness to acknowledge that is important. And brave. And a crucial step in fixing things.”

 

He felt his cheeks warm a bit at her calling him brave- _which was ridiculous,_ because he’d been called brave a thousand times and had only ever felt pride in it- but that was replaced by a sinking feeling as soon as she talked about repair.

 

“I don’t think it can be fixed,” he muttered. He’d felt so since the morning after their fight, but saying it out loud brought a fresh sting to it, like ripping off a scab that had almost healed.

 

“I think most things can be fixed, as long as we put some careful thought into how,” Belle said. “But let’s not get ahead. We can talk about that later. Tell me what happened.”

 

It was phrased as a command, but there was nothing commanding about it. Belle would give him the time he needed to get it out, he knew that, and was grateful. He needed it.

 

“I- after I saw them together, I- was so- put out. So thrown. Angry. I did think it was disgusting, I suppose. But mostly I was- afraid. I never suspected- I never thought he’d do such a thing…” Gaston said, troubled.  

 

“When I saw them, and I was so surprised, that the person I thought I knew best had this whole...other life I knew nothing about. And all I could think about was how _dangerous_ it was, how foolish, what might happen if anyone found out. I knew I had to confront him, but I- wasn’t ready for it. So I- drank. I drank a lot. I needed something to do. I drank too much.”

 

Belle had been watching with a neutral, patient expression, but Gaston saw her slight wince when he mentioned the drink. He’d never seen her face in the tavern, but surely she was aware of what it could do to a man. She masked it again quickly, but Gaston had seen it. He felt awful. But it had been a terrible mistake, and he’d been aware it was a bad idea even as he’d cracked open the bottle, yet he’d still done it, because he was selfish, and weak, and needed a crutch to cope with all the feelings that had been storming through him.

 

He’d opened it because he was afraid, and it had led to him losing what mattered most to him in the world. Sometimes his mind started to wonder what might have happened if he’d just gone to face him sober, but he always shied away from going further. He’d never had much of an imagination, but surely such thoughts would only bring further pain, maybe even madness.

 

He’d done it. There was no erasing it.

 

“I was horrible, Belle, the way I spoke to him. I said- all those things I said to you, and worse. I called him awful things. Vile. Twisted. Perverse. I can’t even remember them all. I was cruel. I was...violent,” he said, and Belle’s attempted at a blank expression crumbled once again. “I- I was trying to- to make him see sense, but I- I know I was aggressive. I scared him. I hurt him.” He couldn’t bare to tell her about the things half-remembered, how he’d grabbed LeFou in ways he shouldn’t have, on the edge of his sanity with that storm of anger and fear and whiskey raging inside him. “Inside and out. He hit me and he told me to stay away from him. And I have.”

 

Belle was quiet for a long moment, and he hovered on the brink of desperately wanting her to speak and being terrified of what she might say. She seemed at a loss herself. “Poor LeFou,” she said at last.

 

Gaston felt a sting. Of course, she was right. LeFou was the victim in this situation. Gaston had made him one.

 

“He must have been so frightened. So hurt,” she said.

 

Gaston shut his eyes, an imaginary knife ripping through his belly. “He was.” He wondered, perhaps, whether he should just keep them shut, and allow her to get up and walk away. Surely someone as open-hearted and kind as Belle must find such action unbearable.

 

She made him open his eyes in surprise when she reached out once again to touch his hand. “I do...understand what was driving you, Gaston. I can see how much you love your friend, and I feel for you, too,” she said. “But we cannot deny that damage was done, to someone who wasn’t hurting anyone.”

 

Gaston could only let out a grunt of agreement, not trusting his voice to say words that wouldn’t break.

 

“I- I know you haven’t told me everything,” she said quietly. “But I think- it might be possible to make amends. Is that something you’d want to do?”

 

“Of course,” he said quickly. “Nothing feels right anymore. Of course I want it fixed.”

 

“I can see you want it fixed,” Belle said, slowly, stopping and chewing her lips. “But are you willing to take steps _to_ fix it, even if it might be hard?”

 

He frowned. Belle had strange ways of speaking- strange ways about everything she did. “Yes- but I don’t think there’s anything to be done.”

 

“An apology would be a start,” she said quietly.

 

He stiffened in his chair. “I- he doesn’t want to see me, Belle. I wouldn’t even know- how- what to say-”

 

“The thing about apologies,” Belle said, interrupting him as he stuttered about. “Is you have to mean them.”

 

“Er- yes, I suppose-”

 

“When you said sorry to me, Gaston? Earlier? Not a very good apology,” she said. There was no anger in her tone, just a plain sort of matter-of-factedness that made him bristle. He’d thought they were past that already!

 

“What else did you want me to say?” he asked, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. “I told you, I was just-”

 

“It’s not what you said,” Gaston. “Not exactly. It’s _why_ you said it. You said the words ‘I’m sorry’ but your goal was clear. You wanted to move past it. To get me talking to you again. So you could continue to speak about what’s troubling you.”

 

Gaston felt like she’d slapped him, although there was no malice in her expression. He felt his cheeks warm a bit, and wondered briefly, how much easier it might have been if he’d chosen a less intelligent person to unload on. Someone who couldn’t see right through him. But it’s pointless. There’s no one else he could have trusted with this, and no one could actually offer up better answers.

 

Still. Her astuteness was frustrating. “I- I suppose that’s true.”

 

“It absolutely is,” she said. She catches his guilty expression and adds, “It’s alright, really. I can’t imagine, going through all you’re going through without being able to tell someone. I do understand. But Gaston, it was clear to me that you hadn’t given any thought to why I was upset or what I was feeling. Your reason for apologizing was selfish. To get back on my good side.”

 

He couldn’t deny it.

 

“How do you think I felt, about the way you behaved yesterday?” she asked.

 

He colored once more. He didn’t know how to- how was he supposed to know, what goes on in a girl’s head? He’d been loud. He’d stood up fast. Perhaps she’d been frightened- “Uh, scared, maybe...because I…I was shouting-”

 

“That was a small part of it,” she said. “Although I didn’t really think you’d do me any harm. Not really. I was _insulted_ though, by the rudeness of your reaction. I was annoyed, that you went immediately into shouting and raging, instead of behaving like a gentleman. I was _embarrassed_ by the scene you were causing. I felt humiliated, and awkward, and then you were gone and I had to sit there while the two people left inside gawked at me. I tried to read my book and I couldn’t concentrate because I could hear them whispering and feel them staring.”

 

Well. That was enough to make him feel properly ashamed of himself. He rubbed at the back of his neck. “Wow. I- you’re right. That was highly unchivalrous of me. I _am_ sorry, Belle. I should have-”

 

“It _is_ alright,” Belle said, waving her hand. “But those are the same words you used before, and now I actually feel like you mean them. You’ve thought about it. You’re not just trying to achieve a goal.”

 

“I see.”

 

“Good. So I hope you can see...how it applies to any apology you might try to make to LeFou. You need to mean it.”

 

He nodded, thinking.

 

“Why do you want his friendship back?” Belle asked.

 

“Oh,” he said. He hadn’t quite been expecting the question and it seemed a bit awkward, to go on about such things. But he gave it a try. “Well- it’s...he’s just always been there. It feels like a part of me is missing when he’s not. He’s always been there for me. The days just seem so...long without him. There’s no one to _do_ things with, who’ll do all the things I like to do-”

 

He slowed down when he saw Belle frowning. “What?”

 

“It’s just...all the things you’re saying. Gaston, they’re about you. How he’d do things you wanted, how he was there for you. I want to know about _LeFou._ What makes him special? What do you miss about _him?”_

 

Gaston winced. He definitely didn’t want to answer that. What would be the point, in remembering all the best things about his friend, if he’d never be able to experience them up close again? Belle might harbor some notions about fixing it, but Gaston was sure that was impossible.

 

“He’s...the funniest person I know. He observes all these little things I never do, and points them out and makes me laugh. He’s clever. He’s warm. He’s almost always in good spirits, and when you look at him, even if you’re feeling low, it’s almost impossible not to crack a smile. He can sing. He knows a thousand songs, and always surprises me with them when we’re out in the woods. Some of them he even makes up. So many people you come across are _drab. Dull. Boring._ But he never is. Even spending every last day with him, he’d still always come up with something amusing or surprising to say. He-”

 

Gaston stopped suddenly, embarrassed. He’d been going on far too long. But at least he’d managed to get Belle looking at him with genuine warmth again. He knew she’d been thrown by his explanation of how he’d confronted by LeFou, even if she’d been trying not to show it. He felt relieved to know she didn’t despise him.

 

“That’s lovely, Gaston,” she said. “Did you ever say anything like that to him...before?”

 

“No,” Gaston said quickly, a dry laugh in his throat. “Of course not. I can hardly believe I said it all to _you_.”

 

Her mouth did twitch fully into a smile at that. “Well. I bet he would have been thrilled to hear even a part of it.”

 

Gaston rolled his eyes. “Men don’t need to say those things,” he said. “But I’m sure he _knew.”_

 

“If you say so,” she said, though he wasn’t sure she fully believed it. “In any case, I’m glad you told me. It makes me feel a bit...better about trying to help, when I know how genuine you are. Gaston, the friendship you described is really something special. I don’t think many people are lucky enough to have one like it. And I’d love for you to have it back. But I do think to have any hope you’d need to apologize and truly mean it. To examine what it must have felt like for him, to have his dearest friend in the world turn on him, just for expressing something about who he really is. Would you be able to do that?”

 

Gaston couldn’t help cringing. The thought of having to look LeFou in the eye again made him feel sick to his stomach. The hurt and anger and betrayal that had burned in his eyes that night had become permanently etched into his head, and that was bad enough. The thought of knocking on his door and having it slammed in his face...he was sure it might push him over the edge of something he could barely hang onto as it was.

 

“I don’t know, Belle. He asked me to stay away. And I’ve never- you saw how bad I messed up with _you._ I don’t _apologize,_ Belle. I never have, not really- and I don’t know how it’s done.”

 

Belle looked at him, frowning slightly but not without sympathy. “Gaston…” she said slowly. “Can I ask...what were your parents like?”

 

“ _What?”_ he asked. Loud. With a touch of anger. Again, the baker looked over at them, and Belle’s eyebrows went up. “Sorry,” he muttered, quieter but still tense. “But what does _that_ have to do with anything? They’re long gone.”

 

Belle shrugged. “You don’t have to answer it, I suppose. But you say you don’t know how to apologize...and I can’t help but wonder why. I’m not...trying to judge, or anything, but well it seems to be one of the important things children learn how to do and I- I’m just curious. I’ll still try to help you figure out how, of course, but- perhaps examining it would help us both understand.”

 

Gaston could not help frowning at her. “Belle. I think you read far too many books, and it seems- stupid- pointless to me to- go back into the past but… you’ve been a help so far. I’ll try- but I’m not sure any of it will be a help.”

 

“Alright,” Belle said, giving him a small smile. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

 

It took him a moment to get started, though she did nothing to make him feel rushed. When he finally did, it made sense to start with his father. Less pleasant, but certainly simple. “Well- as far as my father goes- no. He never did teach me anything about apologies. And I never saw him make one, even though if anyone ever needed to- it was him. He-” Gaston faltered, chest constricting as he thought back on things he’d tried to bury along with his father.

 

“He was a cruel man. A drunk. He never had a kind word to say to anyone and he- he hit my mother. Often. Hit me too, but only when I got older. Only when I was old enough to try and get in the way.”

 

Belle’s brow knitted in concern and sympathy. “Gaston that’s- truly awful,” she said.

 

He shrugged, trying to distance himself from it. Like he said, he couldn’t see the point in bringing any of it back up. He was only doing any of it for Belle’s benefit, whatever she might be getting out of it. “He died when I was ten. Got lost in a snowstorm on his way home from the tavern.” Gaston hadn’t grieved then and he felt no sorrow now. It had been a mercy, the way he saw it. He hadn’t been big enough to protect his mother then, and watching him hurt her was a torture. He’d felt free.

 

“My mother- she...well I don’t suppose she taught me much about it either,” he said. Grudgingly. He’d loved her dearly, and it felt like a betrayal to say anything even slightly negative about her. “The thing is- well, she adored me. She was always so proud, of everything I did. How much I helped her, how I tried to protect her. She passed when I was fifteen, but in the years in between...she had some trouble thinking I was ever in the wrong, though I was, from time to time. I got into trouble. Stupid mischief. Sometimes took things further than I should have. But my mother...she could only ever compare me to _him_ and in her eyes he was a monster and I was an angel. So no, she never made me say I was sorry. Not for anything.”

 

Guilt blanketed him, suffocating. He wasn’t sure if he believed in anything _after,_ but he hoped that if she was somewhere, watching him, that she didn’t hate him for saying such a thing out loud.

 

Belle looked about as uncomfortable and upset as he did. He wondered if she regretted asking such a question. Tentatively, she said, “I can certainly understand her view. Thank you, Gaston, for sharing that. I know it can’t have been easy. I do...I think it helps. To understand.”

 

“It better,” he grumbled quietly, not able to help himself. Belle looked somewhat guilty.

 

“Well, Gaston, I do think it will be an upward climb for you. To do it, and do it right. But I think LeFou deserves one. It will probably be hard. Painful even. And- of course there is no guarantee that he’ll be willing to accept it, after...after everything. But it’s the right thing to do, and I think no matter what, you’ll be glad you did it too, in the end. And…”

 

“And?” Gaston probed, wondering what else she might want to add to this thing that was already achingly painful to even think about.

 

“And, I’ll be here, on the other side. To help you through it. Whatever happens.”

 

He hadn’t been expecting that, but the words brought with them a rush of gratitude and warmth. He found himself smiling. A _real_ smile, the first real smile he’d smiled since the night he’d seen LeFou and Stanley together.

 

“Thanks, Belle,” he said, pleasantly surprised.

 

It truly was bizarre. The Belle before him was obviously the same girl he’d chased after for so long, but he hadn’t seen her for who she was at all then. She’d been a beautiful face, a prize, a goal...an object, really.

 

He hadn’t cared to know her, really, and all those things insisted made them incompatible- her intellect, her obsession with books, her lack of interest in marriage or children any time soon- were things he’d convinced himself would fade away after she finally gave in, agreed to marry him and have his children.

 

Seeing her before him, he realized how awful it would have been, if she’d ever given in to such a thing, and given up all the qualities that made her so wonderful to him now. It had been some time since she and her father had turned up in the village, but he he’d only _really_ begun to know her in the past few days.

 

All the qualities that he’d seen as obstacles were now her glowing strengths. She was _stubborn_ because she believed in things, wholeheartedly. She was _infuriating_ because she was too smart for her own good, smarter than anyone, but it meant she _saw_ things others were too small-minded to- things _he_ was too small-minded to. She was _odd_ and different, had strange ideas picked up from the pages of dusty books, ideas that sprung up in her wild imagination...but that meant she had insights and ways of looking at the world that were remarkably helpful.

 

Gaston ached for the loss of LeFou, and would do anything to turn back the clock and relive that awful night in a better way- even giving up this newfound friendship with Belle.

 

Still, he found himself thinking how tragic it would have been, if he’d gone his whole life never seeing her as she truly was, this incredible young woman who was his best hope for getting back the person who mattered most to him.

 

She only let her surprise at his beaming smile show for a moment. Then, tilting her head slightly, she smiled back, warm and genuine, and Gaston couldn’t help feeling baffled at how strange life could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAYYYY!!! I was so pleased to read all the lovely comments you fantastic, amazing people left on the last chapter! I'm glad the long hiatus didn't make you lose interest. 
> 
> I'm sorry I stayed away so long because I'm actually having way too much fun exploring this friendship between Gaston and Belle. It just feels right, having her use a mix of patience and tough love to help him get through his shit. 
> 
> As always, I LOVE hearing your thoughts, feelings, predictions and anything else, comment-wise. They truly make my day. What an amazing, supportive, enthusiastic fandom this is! 
> 
> Hopefully another update soon!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaston goes to speak to LeFou at long last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been really enjoying writing Gaston lately, but enough people have talked about missing LeFou and Stanley that I decided it was time for a POV switch. 
> 
> We are back in LeFou's head for this chapter.

 

LeFou stood in the small kitchen of the house he shared with his grandmother, peeling and chopping carrots and tossing them into a large bowl. The two other occupants of it, Gra-mere and Stanley were supposed to be engaged in tasks of their own, however they seemed to be more occupied with the song they were currently singing- a bawdy, cheeky thing he was frankly surprised his grandmother knew. 

 

“You are painfully off key,” LeFou teased over their song. Stanley had abandoned his potatoes entirely and was clapping his knee, not quite in time to Gra-mere’s banging of her wooden spoon on the counter top. “And we may as well start cooking breakfast if you two don’t hurry up.” 

 

Gra-mere scowled over at him. “We cannot all be as talented as you, dear boy,” she said, then turned to Stanley and gave him a big wink. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t have our fun, right?” 

 

“Indeed not,” Stanley said, bowing to her grandiosely. 

He then took the little old woman in his arms and began to waltz with her around the kitchen. Gra-mere let out a momentary squeal of surprise, but it quickly turned to laughter as Stanley whirled her about as though she were a maid of twenty. 

 

LeFou couldn’t help chuckling along with them. “You’re ridiculous. Shameless,” he said and was entirely ignored. Which was fine, because he didn’t mean it. They truly _were_ both ridiculous and shameless, but he adored it, really. 

 

He was pleased that he could bring Stanley here, that the two of them got on so well. Gra-mere simply loved him, and Stanley was able to charm her without any effort. 

 

He had been careful not to be too familiar with Stanley, at first, when he brought him over, simply explaining that he was no longer close with Gaston (without offering any details on why), but Stanley had become a good friend. 

After not more than a couple of visits though, Gra-mere had taken LeFou aside and quietly admitted she knew Stanley was more than a friend to him, that she’d always known her LeFou was different. She’d kissed him on both cheeks and said he was welcome in their home any time he wanted, and LeFou should be free with him, in her presence- just not _too_ free, she added with a nudge. 

She’d then made a scandalizing comment about not worrying much after she went to bed because she was half-deaf anyway. 

 

Since then, Stanley came over several times a week, and always on Sundays. The three of them cooked together, ate dinner, told stories and enjoyed the evenings until Gra-mere went to bed. It was a wonderful thing, being able to share him, even in a small way. And it was nice for Stanley too- there was no one in his life he could admit such things to, and he became close with Gra-mere almost at once. 

 

LeFou was chopping his carrots as they danced about, trying to concentrate, muttering, “If you make me lose a finger, I’ll never forgive you.” 

 

Just then there was a knock on the front door, and they all paused in surprise. They never had visitors at this time. Gra-mere began immediately fussing with her hair, smoothing the wrinkles in her dress. LeFou was closest to the kitchen door, so he walked out through it and across their modest sitting room to answer it. 

 

When he opened it, his mouth fell open and at once it felt as though all the air had been knocked out of him. 

 

“Gaston,” he gasped, thoroughly flabbergasted. He was truly the last person he expected to see. At once, he felt the quickening of his heart- and not because- as it once did- he was standing next to the most magnificent specimen of man who’d ever walked the Earth. 

 

Fear. 

 

It had all but faded in the time since Gaston had come to confront him. He only got occasional glimpses of his former friend around town, in the market or in the shops. On the rare nights they were in the tavern together, Gaston had always kept his distance, never so much as making eye contact with him. 

 

Had the time come at last for him to get vengeance on LeFou for daring to strike him? He would not be surprised if there was still a grudge. He glanced nervously back at the kitchen door, praying Stanley wouldn’t come out. LeFou felt sure Gaston would never hurt him too badly, but he hadn’t forgotten the way Gaston had talked about Stanley- how he  _ blamed  _ him for what LeFou was doing.

 

All these scattered thoughts flew through his head at lightning speed, but before he could determine whether he ought to think defensively (though really, what hope did he have is Gaston was here for violence?), Gaston opened his mouth and started to speak. 

 

“LeFou, I- I know- I know you asked me to stay away- and- and if you don’t want to- to listen to me you can just- just close the door and I’ll go away,” he said, rubbing nervously at the back of his neck. 

 

LeFou gaped at him. Gaston was just as massive and muscular as he’d always been, towered over LeFou as he always did, yet somehow he seemed so much  _ smaller  _ than ever before. The only descriptor that came to mind was  _ meek,  _ and that’s not something LeFou had ever expected. 

 

Sheer curiosity stopped him from doing exactly as Gaston suggested. But it was the fact that Gaston was offering him a choice at all that left him too stunned to move. Gaston did not provide people with choices. Gaston did what he wanted, when he wanted. He always had. LeFou had admired it, once upon a time. 

 

“Well- I,” Gaston said, awkward, looking at his feet. “I suppose I can- I’ll assume it’s alright if I say something. I don’t know- I don’t know if this is the right thing to do- if I’ve come too soon- or too late- if I shouldn’t have come at all but...here I am.” 

 

Again, LeFou could only stare. His heart was still pounding, but it took on a different sort of flutter as realization of what was happening began to dawn on him.  _ Gaston was here to apologize.  _ It was clear as day. The way he was staring at his boots, fidgeting with his nails, the stiffness in his shoulders, the overall bashfulness. 

 

That was another thing LeFou never could have imagined. He frantically thought back on twenty years of interactions and tried to recall a time he’d ever heard Gaston apologize to  _ anyone.  _ He came up empty. Not for anything, for bumping someone in the street by accident, for trodding on someone’s foot-  _ never.  _

 

“I- I don’t have any excuse for the way I treated you that night, LeFou. You’re- you’re the best friend a man could ever hope to have, and there- there’s nothing that can justify the way I-  _ anything,”  _ Gaston said, and his face was twisted in blatant pain. “I was wrong. I was so wrong. And I’m not expecting you to forgive- I’m not even  _ asking  _ for that. I just- I wanted to say that I’m sorry and I-” 

 

Suddenly, his eyes went wide and his attention became fixed to a spot over LeFou’s shoulder. Panicked, LeFou whipped around to see Stanley standing there, the kitchen door swinging shut behind him. 

 

LeFou swiveled back to Gaston again, once again filled with nervous panic. But Gaston didn’t look murderous. He simply looked embarrassed. 

 

“Ah,” he said, with a less than effective attempt at speaking in his usual deep baritone. “Stanley. Good evening. How- how are you?” 

 

LeFou turned again to see Stanley looking just as stunned as he felt. His eyebrows had practically receded into his hairline. “I’m- I’m well thank you. How are you?” 

 

“Fine. Fine,” Gaston said, though he looked anything but. LeFou turned yet again and saw Stanley looking around the sitting room somewhat frantically. 

 

“I was just looking for- for uh...this,” he said, snatching up a candlestick. “Getting a bit dark in there.” 

 

He was gone within a moment. 

 

LeFou looked back at Gaston and saw he was plainly mortified, cheeks red, unable to conceal any of his anguish. He shut his eyes tight for a moment, and when he opened it seemed a bit more collected. 

 

“Well. Um- I suppose that’s- that’s the gist of it. I know- I  _ know  _ how much I hurt you and you didn’t deserve it. Not a bit. If I could take it all back, I would, but I- I know I can’t. I’m not asking for anything in return, LeFou. I just wanted you to know that I am truly sorry for all that I’ve done to you.” 

 

LeFou watched him, heart threatening to pound out of his chest. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. It felt like a dream. He’d been sure it was only in his wildest dreams that Gaston could ever do such a thing, could ever speak so softly, could ever lay himself bare in such a manner. 

 

LeFou’s gut twisted. There was a part of him that wanted to wrap his arms around Gaston in an instant. He looked terrified and vulnerable in a way LeFou had never seen him, except perhaps in the few days after his mother passed away. He’d seemed to bury away any bit of vulnerability he had the day they laid her to rest. Yet here he was, looking so scared and raw. 

 

LeFou bit his lip hard. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t go that far, not now. 

 

Instead, he nodded slowly. “Thank you, Gaston, for saying that.” 

 

It wasn’t much. It wasn’t forgiveness. But Gaston’s shoulders sagged with relief and he let out a heavy sigh and then swallowed hard. 

 

They locked eyes for a long moment, neither one knowing where to go from there. LeFou was touched. He really was. He felt it flooding through him, the pleasantly tingling suprise warming him in places he didn’t know had been so cold. 

“I- it was nothing. And I know it’s only words. And maybe I  _ should  _ have tried to say so earlier, but I wanted to- I didn’t want to upset you more than I already had and- I was  _ scared  _ that-” 

 

“GASTON!” 

 

His words were drowned out by the shrill cry of LeFou’s grandmother, who came bustling into the room, wooden spoon still in her hand. “Darling boy, it’s been too long since you’ve called on us! Too long, indeed. Will you be staying for supper? I daresay we’ll need to put on another dozen potatoes- two perhaps- to fill that pit of yours, but you know it would be no trouble. No trouble at all.” 

 

LeFou swiveled around, embarrassed, tried to catch her eye to make her stop talking, but she wasn’t even looking at him. She was just beaming at Gaston, waiting for his answer. 

 

“Uh, no. Thank you. You are- too kind, and I have missed your dinners, but- I just needed a word with LeFou and I’ve had it so I- I really must be on my way.” LeFou saw that nervous hand pawing at his neck again, and a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead despite the night being cool. 

 

“Very well, dear. Do come by again soon,” she said, shuffling back into the kitchen. 

 

LeFou turned back once again to look at Gaston, not knowing whether he was loathing the interruptions or grateful for them. 

 

“I mustn’t keep you from your dinner,” he said, somewhat stiff in the shoulders. “Have a good night, LeFou.” He ducked his head a bit, and quickly turned away into the fading light. 

 

“Goodnight,” LeFou said quietly to his retreating back, still stunned. 

 

He walked back inside, and once he was in the kitchen, Stanley was at his side, eyes full of concern and a hand on the small of his back. “What was that about, mon amour?” 

 

“I- I don’t...he wanted to apologize,” LeFou stammered, unable to believe he was saying the words. 

 

Stanley looked just as shocked. LeFou had never been able to disclose all the details to Stanley, but he’d told him enough and Stanley had made some guesses about the rest. 

 

He looked confused and a bit suspicious as he said, “Are you alright?” 

 

LeFou nodded, although he wasn’t entirely sure he was. 

 

“How lovely to see Gaston again,” his grandmother said brightly as she took a roast chicken out of the oven. “Does this mean you two have put whatever silliness that happened behind you?” 

 

“I- I- no one’s put the goats in for the night,” LeFou said suddenly, looking out the window in a panic. It felt like there wasn’t enough air in the room. He had to get out. He had to get away. “I’ll go see to it.” 

 

He stumbled his way to the back door and down the small step, gasping for breath. 

 

His heart was still thumping about like a rabbit and his head was an utter mess. Nothing could have prepared him for such an unexpected interruption to a quiet Sunday. He felt the sting of confused tears in his eyes and shut his eyes tight to keep them at bay. He clenched his fists tight to keep them from shaking. 

 

His feet seemed to have forgotten how to work. They felt like heavy bricks, but they eventually got them over to the goat pen. Instead of rounding them up into the small barn, however, he simply sunk down into a soft pile of hay. Within moments, three bleating young kids came hopping over to him, and he reached out for soft fur, allowing his head to sink down the backs of his favorite, the little brown and white one. 

 

He sat there for a long time, grateful to Stanley for whatever he’d said to keep his grandmother at bay. By the time the moon had risen up the sky, he still had no idea how he felt, not really, but he stood up, put the goats to bed at last and made his way into the little cottage. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys truly are PHENOMENAL reviewers. I am so touched by the thought you guys put into your feedback. I love hearing what parts you connect to and how you respond to different things and I am just beyond grateful! 
> 
> Thank you, from the bottom of my heart!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. Hi. 
> 
> I did something evil in this chapter (unrelated to Gafou or Stanfou). I am really sorry though, and I have no good excuse.

 

“I did it!” Gaston yelled as he burst through the front door of Belle’s house without knocking. He couldn’t help it. He was full to the brim with energy and a need to tell her. As he looked around, however, all he saw was the raised eyebrows of Maurice over the top of his easel. 

 

He looked torn between amusement and perhaps a touch of annoyance at the manner of Gaston’s entry. 

 

“Is this an occasion for congratulations, then?” he asked, still eyeing Gaston in a peculiar manner. 

 

“Oh. Uh. Sorry, Maurice. I- is Belle here?” Gaston replied, looking around the small room, although it was quite obvious she was nowhere in it. 

 

“I believe she’s out back, feeding the chickens,” Maurice said, inclining his head towards the back of the house. 

 

“Ah- well then. Do you mind if I-” Gaston asked, starting to move through the room. 

 

“Don’t suppose it would matter much if I did,” Maurice muttered, shaking his head as Gaston trudged past him and through the house until he reached the back door. 

 

“Belle!” he cried, throwing open the back door and stepping out into the morning sun. 

 

“Bonjour, Gaston,” she said, turning to face him, mouth twitching. “You look as though you’ve got something to say.” 

 

“I do,” he nodded emphatically. “I do.” He paced back and forth a couple of times before turning to her and saying, “I did it. I went to see him.” 

 

“Really?” she asked, eyebrows raising. “Gaston, I’m impressed. I felt certain I’d have to spend some time pushing you towards it. How did it go?” 

 

“I- it...well. All things considered, it went well,” Gaston said. His shoulders sagged with some relief as he said the words aloud. 

 

“That’s wonderful,” Belle said, then waited for him to expand. 

 

“I- I did all the things we talked about. I made sure he really knew that  _ I  _ knew I was wrong, and that I really was sorry- and that I wasn’t asking him to forgive me,” Gaston said, shaking his head disbelief.  _ He really had done it. It hadn’t even been that hard! Not really.  _

 

“And he- well he thanked me. For saying it. So- well, that’s a start, isn’t it?” he asked, feeling foolish for needing her confirmation. 

 

She beamed at him, radiant in the early light. “It certainly is. I’m proud of you, Gaston.” 

 

At that, she stepped forward, pulled him into her arms and embraced him tightly. He stiffened at once and glanced around. Belle was not the sort of girl who should be embracing men as she was. They weren’t even  _ courting-  _ she’d been unmistakably clear about that. She truly had _no_ sense of propriety and- well, hang it all. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been hugged like that. Certainly not since before the incident with LeFou. The warmth of it was intoxicating and he found himself unable to think sensibly. He sank into it and hugged back until she pulled away. 

 

As she pulled back, they looked at each other and Belle seemed to realize what she’d done was a little out of the ordinary. 

If she looked embarrassed, it was only for a fleeting moment. Then she was  _ laughing. _

 

“What?” he grumbled, reddening. 

 

“I just- I never would have imagined the two of us standing here. That I’d be in my garden, hugging you, telling you I was proud of you- feeling glad to be your friend. It’s nice.” 

 

Relaxing as he started to understand she wasn’t laughing  _ at  _ him, Gaston nodded. “It is.” 

\---

 

He had told LeFou he wasn’t expecting forgiveness and he had meant it. 

Still, he was only human. There had been a part of him, of course, that couldn’t help hoping LeFou  _ would _  forgive him at once _.  _ That he would see his sincerity and welcome him back into his life with open arms. 

 

He’d _dreamed_ about it, thought about it day and night. Perhaps Belle was rubbing off on him. He’d never before been the type to waste time dwelling on things that might be. He lived in the moment, always had. 

But aside from the time he spent with Belle, there really wasn’t a lot of joy to be found in the moment anymore. 

 

LeFou had been his source of joy. All his life. His absence from it seemed to sap the color and light out of most things. 

 

So Gaston fantasized about a world where all his mistakes were fixed. About LeFou agreeing to put it all behind him. Moving forward and going back to how it was all at once. 

Every time he went out hunting or fishing, he thought about what it would be like to do this with LeFou again. Every time he stepped into the tavern, he wondered if they’d ever waltz about it like fools again, sing and dance on tables, rile up the other patrons together, play darts or cards or some foolish drinking game.

 

He was even prepared to allow  _ Stanley  _ to be in these dream scenarios of his, if that’s what LeFou wanted. Even though the mere thought of the man was likely to make him break whatever he was holding at the time. He'd be civil. He could be civil, maybe even nice, if LeFou would only open the door to him once again.

 

It was foolish on his part, perhaps, to harbor any idea that apologizing would work like a magic wand, undoing all he’d done when he’d berated his friend so horribly, when he’d  _ advanced  _ on him so callously. 

 

But Gaston had made a step, and LeFou hadn't scorned him for it. That was enough to give him hope. He’d have to be patient, even if being patient was one of his least developed abilities. 

 

He forced himself to be. 

 

When they met in town now, at the very least there was  _ eye contact.  _ They no longer avoided looking at each other. LeFou, if he saw him in the market, would always nod, give him a smile- a bit of a tight-lipped one most of the time- but it was something. Gaston’s heart always leapt in those moments. Sometimes there was even an exchange of words. Never more than  _ Bonjour  _ or  _ Hope you’re well.  _ But they were all he had, and he took the little joy they offered and clung to it. 

 

He even told Belle whenever it happened.  _ I saw LeFou today. He said hello!  _ He could never help himself from saying it, even though he rather suspected there was some amusement at his expense in her eyes when she’d smile at him and say  _ That’s wonderful, Gaston.  _

 

It was. But he still longed for the day when he could throw himself down at her table and say  _ I won’t be able to join you for dinner this evening after all! I’ve made plans with LeFou!  _

 

Every nod or smile he got from LeFou was a tiny reason to hope that day might come eventually. 

 

\--

 

In late November, however, something happened that was big enough to take his mind off LeFou almost entirely. 

 

Maurice fell ill. Horribly so. 

 

The doctor was called to their home and he offered up a grim prognosis. Gaston’s chest hurt on hearing the words like it hadn’t since his own mother passed, and that same infuriating feeling of helplessness took over, driving him half-mad. 

 

He hated that he couldn’t be  _ useful, _ that there was so little he could do. Belle was devastated as his health deteriorated and there was nothing he could say to make it easier. She’d done  _ so much  _ for him, been so patient and kind to ease him through his own complicated feelings and he could do nothing to repay her. 

 

He tried, of course. He chopped wood until his arms ached- which, considering his strength meant he brought them enough wood to last two years within the span of a week. He brought them fresh game, the tenderest cuts, and even  _ cooked,  _ making the one thing he knew how to make- which was fortunately a stew. He even tried to intimidate the doctor into doing more- nearly terrifying the poor man to death until Belle had caught him and kindly but firmly asked him to leave the man alone, because he was obviously doing everything he could for Maurice. 

 

It wasn’t enough. 

 

After a little more than a week, Maurice passed. Gaston hadn’t even really known the man until close to the end, as he’d begun to spend more time with Belle. He was certain Maurice never even liked him much, but Belle was his closest friend now, and her pain was his pain. He ached with his inability to do more than hold her and let her cry. 

 

A few days after the funeral, he arrived first thing in the morning, as he’d been doing all along. He’d wanted to stay with her all night, but understood how inappropriate it would be. 

 

He knocked on the door, and she came to answer it with red-rimmed eyes. 

 

“Belle,” he said, walking in and pulling her in for a hug, which she accepted somewhat numbly. 

 

“I’ll put on some tea,” she said when they pulled away. “Have a seat.” 

 

But he didn’t take a seat. Instead, he began to pace about a kitchen that seemed much too small for a man of his size. 

 

“Er- Belle,” he said. “There’s something I want to say to you.” 

 

“What is it?” she asked in the same strained voice she’d had since Maurice’s health had started to decline. 

 

“Uh. Well. I- I hope you won’t take this the wrong way...I don’t wish to upset you at all and- well I certainly don’t mean it in the way I did before- and- I- I know you were quite clear about- er- I suppose what I mean to say is-” 

 

She turned to stare at him in utter bafflement, and he realized as she watched him stammering that it was the first time in two weeks he’d seen an expression other than aching sorrow on her face.

 

“Slow down, Gaston,” she said, not unkindly. “You’re rambling and I’m afraid I’m too exhausted to keep up with you.” 

 

He sighed and took in a deep breath. “Right. Sorry. I’m trying to say- that I’m worried for you. I know you’re strong and- and capable of taking care of yourself but- well- with no source of income and...well- I just wondered if you might want to- to reconsider the idea of...getting married?” he finished, stomach twisting with nerves, scratching at his hair. 

 

Her mouth fell open, and he felt panic rise up. 

 

“I don’t mean- it wouldn’t have to be a  _ marriage  _ as- as people generally think of marriage. I just- I want to make sure you’re taken  _ care  _ of and- well I don’t have the slightest desire to marry anyone else, in any case, so it wouldn’t matter if you- if you - ah, I don’t know how to say what I’m trying to say but-” 

 

He stopped when she  stepped forward and put a gentle hand on his arm. “Gaston,” she said, and he looked down at her to see that she  _ was  _ smiling, the first real smile he’d seen on her face since Maurice got sick. There were tears in her brown eyes. “I understand what you’re saying. And I am honestly so touched. Thank you. But- well. No. I do appreciate your kindness, more than you can know, but. I think I’ll be alright.” 

 

“Of course you will be,” Gaston said fiercely. “You know I’ll look after you either way, right? As long as I’ve got air in my lungs, you’ll never go hungry. I’ll make sure you’ve always got meat on your table and if anyone ever causes you any trouble, I’ll knock them sideways and-” 

He stopped again, cut off when she threw her arms around him. 

“Oh, Gaston,” she murmured. “You truly are a surprising person. I mean that in the best way." 

He smiled, kissing her on top of the head. He wasn't surprised, really, that she'd rejected him yet again. He was simply glad she hadn't gotten angry with him over it, that she'd understood his intention fully. 

He tried to recall how he'd felt when he'd wanted to win her hand, so long ago, and found he couldn't. She was every bit the beauty she was then, but his feelings for her were so different. His desire for her had vanished entirely- now his only desire was to make sure she was safe and cared for, this stubborn, bold girl who had become such a dear friend to him. 

"Actually, Gaston," she said, pulling out of their hug. "As much as I appreciate your offer and trust that you _will_ look after me...I think there may be something else on the horizon for me."

"What do you mean?" he asked, puzzled. 

She ducked her head, biting her lip. "It’s- it’s too early to talk about it just yet, but- well, you’ll be the first to know when the time comes.”

 

\--

 

Gaston didn’t have to puzzle on what she meant for long. About a week later, Belle came to him with the news. She’d been looking rather sickly and frail in the days after Maurice passed, but that day when she came by his house, she had color in her cheeks and looked much better than she had been. 

 

“Gaston, I have something to tell you,” she said quietly, settling into a chair in his sitting room. “I’m- I’m leaving Villeneuve.” 

 

He felt his stomach drop at her words and was unable to say anything of his own as she continued. 

 

“I’m moving to Paris. I have an aunt and uncle there. I haven’t seen them since I was a baby, and I don’t remember them at all, but- well it’s my mother’s brother, and papa wrote to them when he first fell ill and- they’ve invited me to stay with them.” 

 

She looked like she was fighting to conceal excitement, like she felt guilty for daring to feel anything but heartache. And even though Gaston felt a surge of fear at the thought of losing her, he thought that wasn’t right. She deserved all the happiness in the world. 

 

“Belle, that’s- wonderful!” he forced himself to say with enthusiasm. “You’ve always talked about how much you long to get out of this _ boring  _ little  town and see the world. I- I’m happy for you.” 

 

She fiddled with her fingernails, a little bashfully. “It is...I mean- I think a change of scenery could be good for me. I feel like I’m drowning in a cloud of sorrow every time I step into our cottage. Paris will keep me busy. Very busy.” 

 

Again, she got that guilty look, and he could see her holding back. “Belle, what is it? You know you’re allowed to feel good about things and it won’t mean you love your father any less. It won’t mean you miss him less. He wanted nothing  _ but _ your happiness. Tell me what you’re excited about. It’s alright.” 

 

She let out a heavy sigh, and Gaston realized he was right on target in his guess. 

Her eyes sparked with light he hadn’t seen in them for so long. “Well- my uncle’s dear friend runs a  _ library  _ there and he’s been in need of an assistant, and papa told them how much I love to read and- and well he’s allowing me to help him there! It’s one of the finest public collections in Paris and- I mean there will be thousands upon thousands of books and I just- it’s something to  _ think  _ about. Something other than how much I miss him.” 

 

Gaston gave her a genuine smile. “You know I’ll never quite understand your obsession with books-” 

 

She folded her arms. “Hey, you let me read you  _ the Iliad. _  And __ you _liked_ it.” 

 

“Some of it,” he conceded, rolling his eyes. “The point is, I’m happy for you. Working in a famous library? Surrounded by piles and piles of books? Probably meeting a load of stuffy scholars? This will be great for you, Belle.” 

 

Even as he said it, he couldn’t help his face from falling a little as he pictured her climbing up ladders in a massive hall of books, hundreds of miles away from him. 

 

“I will miss you terribly, you know,” she said, realizing how he felt. “You’ll come visit, won’t you? Once I’m settled?” 

 

Gaston smiled at her. “I detest Paris. Bunch of elitist snobs walking around the place. It's noisy and crowded and it _smells..._  But for you? Yes. Of course.” 

 

She beamed at him. 

 

“Speaking of which- how are you getting there?" He asked. "Do you need me to escort you? You know I’d be more than happy to." 

 

“That’s so kind of you,” she said, shaking her head. “But no, there’s a merchant and his family who are coming through in about a week’s time. My uncle knows him well and has arranged for me to travel with them.” 

 

“Wow. So it’s- it’s all settled then,” Gaston said, stomach feeling like lead. She was leaving in a  _ week? That was hardly any time at all.  _ And what would his life be, once she did? He felt the loneliness start to spread through him already, seeping into his bones. 

 

“I’ll write to you,” she said firmly. “Every week. And I expect you to write back. And don’t you dare give me any silly excuses about how it hurts your  _ hand,”  _ she teased with a smile. “You’ve told me three times about the time you fought off a starved wolf with your bare hands. Surely you can handle a quill.” 

 

“Very well,” he conceded, crossing his arms. “Just remember not to use those giant words of yours. I can barely understand when you  _ say  _ them. I won’t have a hope of reading them.” 

 

They continued to chat away the morning, Belle asking him dozens of questions about his brief experience in Paris. She even laughed at some of his complaints, which was a welcome sound after all the sorrow, and he began to exaggerate even further, just to make her do it again. 

He listened to her talk, with sparkling eyes, about all her hopes, and tried his hardest to feel happiness instead of fear. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. I'm SO sorry for killing Maurice. I am a horrible person and I am horribly ashamed. SORRYSORRYSORRYSORRY.
> 
> Also for sending away Gaston's BFF Belle. I feel so terrible all around and I hope you guys don't hate me completely.
> 
> But...the show much go on...
> 
>  
> 
> As always, thank you all for the fantastic feedback you leave. It makes my heart soar.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaston gets a letter and has a conversation.

Losing Belle hit him harder than he even thought it would, and he’d been perfectly aware that the loss would be significant. 

He forced himself to wear a brave face as he saw her off on the day she left, but as the merchant caravan disappeared over the horizon, his heart sank. The poor girl had been trying, for his sake he knew, to conceal her excitement but hadn’t been able to. Not really. 

Their sleepy little village was just too small for a girl like her, he knew that, but now that she was gone, it felt small to him as well.

He felt as lonesome as he did in the first days after the fight with LeFou- or worse, even, as he now had the absence of two friends weighing him down. People always rang in a new year full of hope, but Gaston could only think grim thoughts when January came, unsure if he'd be able to find any joy at all in the year to come. 

 

Belle did come through on her promise to write to him. He got a letter from her every week, and he devoured them greedily, the only real thing he had to look forward to.

 

One day in early February, he stopped into the general store to find one waiting for him. 

He accepted it with a hasty thanks and stepped aside to open it right then and there, grinning as soon as he glanced at Belle's tidy penmanship. Feeling warmer already, he began to read.

 

_ Dear Gaston,  _

 

_ Greetings from Paris!  _

 

_ How are you? How is life in the village? I must say, I never thought I would miss it, but there is a part of me that really does. That said, Paris truly is a wonder, and I know coming here was the right decision.  _

 

_ I still think of Papa every day, of course, but being so busy is a help, and I find that none of the charm of the city has worn off, even after over a month! My aunt and uncle are incredibly kind and so generous. They treat me as though I were their own daughter and Paris is starting to feel more and more like home. _

_ And the library! I know you won’t appreciate this as I do, but I hope you’ll indulge me for a moment and let me say- it’s more wondrous than I could possibly have imagined. The sheer number of books is staggering. I think I nearly fainted the first time I saw it...and I always thought myself above such frail things! _

_ The librarian, Monsieur Henri, has been so wonderful to work with. He knows so much, and has such interesting things to to say about books, and he’s introduced me to a number of people at the University. It's a delight to be able to talk about literature with them and hear stories of all the places they've traveled to, all the things they've seen and done.  _

_ It's a bit surprising how well we get on. My uncle had warned me he’s known for being crotchety- he’s made more than one assistant quit in tears but I suppose I've proven myself competent. I'm amazed by how much trust he's put in me.  _

_ I might even say he puts too much trust in me.  _

_ There’s this dreadfully pretentious nobleman who keeps coming in, trying to buy up pieces of our collection, and Henri seems to always make _ _ me _ _ deal with him. I’ve never met anyone so irritating or entitled in all my life. Adam, he’s called, and you’d think he was the first man to ever walk the Earth, the way he carries himself. _

_ I just can’t understand why he thinks it right to buy up books that we have available for all of Paris to share, just because he has unspeakable wealth. They shouldn’t be locked away in some dusty castle! I very much doubt he has any desire to actually read them. He just wants to own them for the sake of it. It makes me so angry. _

_ I wish Henri would give me some peace and chase him off himself- but I do believe he finds it  _ _ funny _ _ , the old codger. I’m at my wit’s end. Perhaps you’d be a dear and find a safe house for me to hide in the village? Because I do believe I may soon be on the run for having murdered an elite. _

_ I’m joking. I think. _

_ Jokes aside though, I do miss you terribly, Gaston. I never could have predicted it, all that time ago, but I’m thrilled that I was wrong, in this case. _

_ Spring is just around the corner- I do hope you will come to Paris and visit. My aunt and uncle would be happy to host you and perhaps you might lend your bulging muscles to help intimidate a certain thorn in my side? _

_ Please do write back- and a longer letter than the last few! I know you’re not fond of the act, but you simply must. I want to know everything. What creatures have you come across in the woods? What sort of silly arguments are going on in the village? And of course...I must ask about LeFou. Have you tried to speak to him again? You’ve given him a lot of time and space- I don’t think it would be wrong to reach out, and see how he reacts. I do dream of the day I can hear that he’s a part of your life again. _

_ Well, I have gone on and on, haven’t I? And I’ve broken my promise not to use large words. I’m sorry. But I hope you’ve managed to get through it without breaking any tables in ~~frust~~ anger. _

_ You’re never far from my thoughts. _

 

_ Yours Truly,  _

_ Belle _

 

He couldn’t keep the smile off his face. He missed her terribly, but it was a thrill to know she was so happy. He had half a mind to march his way right to Paris and give that nobleman a piece of his mind, but he knew Belle well enough now to know she was probably managing just fine on her own. 

 

Gaston strode forward and was just about to walk out the door into the brisk morning air, when it opened from the outside. He stepped aside, and his heart skipped a beat when he found himself face-to-face with LeFou.

 

“Oh,” he said. “Hello, LeFou.” 

 

“Gaston. Hi,” LeFou said, mildly surprised. Then his face flickered with some hesitation and he went on. “It’s freezing out there, isn’t it? How are you doing? Have you got a letter?” he asked, glancing at the envelope Gaston was holding. 

 

“Oh. Er- yes. From Belle,” Gaston said, getting over his shock that LeFou seemed to be initiating conversation beyond basic pleasantries.

 

“I guessed as much. How’s she finding Paris?” LeFou asked.

Gaston's palms began to sweat. LeFou really was  _staying._ He wanted to talk to him. The door opened again behind him and a woman walked in, and LeFou actually stepped  _closer_ to him. He could hardly believe it.

“She- she loves it," Gaston said, a bit croakily. "No surprise there. She’s spending her days in a massive library so she’s thrilled of course. I made that much out, at least.  Of course there’s about fifty words in there I can’t properly understand. And I did warn her I'm useless with words longer than six letters,” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

 

“Can I help?” LeFou asked and Gaston’s eyes went wide as saucers. LeFou was _really_ standing here, not just speaking to him but offering to  _ help  _ him. He prayed he wasn’t dreaming. 

 

“Uh, sure,” he said, pulling the letter out and looking for one of the words that had given him trouble. He pointed to it. “What the bloody hell does that say?” 

 

LeFou stepped closer, and Gaston’s heartbeat quickened at being so close to him after so long. He caught a slight whiff on cinnamon and wondered if he'd been baking. He'd always liked to bake in the winter.  

LeFou stared at the word, then squinted. “Per...pre..preti- oh, why did I think I could help at all?” he said, laughing. “I skipped out on school every time you did, didn’t I?” 

 

Gaston laughed too, surprised at how loud it sounded. How long had it been since he’d done so. “That you did,” he smiled. “And we certainly skipped more than we went.” 

LeFou’s chuckle faded into a smile, and Gaston smiled back at him, warm in spite of the cold creeping in from under the door. After a spell, it started to shift from nice to a little awkward, and LeFou ducked his head back to the letter. 

 

“Are there any others?” he asked, starting to flip it over. Gaston’s hand darted forward, snatching it back. LeFou might be as bad at reading as he was, but he’d certainly recognize his own name on the back page. That was too embarrassing a thought to handle. 

 

“Er- no. Not really. I’ve figured most of them out from the words around them, I think.” 

 

LeFou nodded, not showing any indication he found Gaston’s behavior odd. “You, uh, must be missing her quite a bit, I imagine.” 

 

“Yes,” Gaston admitted. “I am. But I’m trying to be happy she’s happy.” 

 

LeFou looked hesitant again before he said, quietly. “I think people were surprised she left. All that time you were spending together… we assumed she’d finally given in and agreed to, you know...” 

 

Gaston laughed and shook his head, emphatically, “Definitely not. It was- we were never- we were _friends_ ,” he said. 

LeFou looked a little surprised at that, but Gaston couldn’t blame him. He’d never had a friend who was a woman in all the time they’d known each other. It was a bit odd. Still, he went on, “She was just my friend.  _ Is  _ my friend, I should say. She wants me to visit in the spring.”

 

LeFou raised his eyebrows. “You’re going to Paris?” 

 

Gaston straightened his shoulders. “Yes. Yes, I believe I am.” 

 

“You _hate_ Paris,” LeFou said, mouth twitching in a little smile. 

 

“I do,” Gaston nodded. “I did. But maybe I’ll see it differently through Belle’s eyes. And...well,” he looked at his feet, feeling nervous, before he forced himself to look back at LeFou. “People can change, can’t they?” 

 

It was a heavy, loaded question and he could tell by the look in LeFou’s eyes that he understood the weight of it. 

Gaston’s chest felt tight and it seemed there wasn’t enough air in the room. His hands were starting to shake, and he stuffed them into his pockets to hide the fact, although he was certain he hadn’t been able to hide the terror on his face. He needed LeFou to agree. He needed it _so badly_. He’d put so much effort into becoming  _ better  _ and he just- he wanted LeFou to see it. 

 

At long last, LeFou spoke. “Yes,” he said. “I believe they can.” 

 

Gaston couldn’t even try to hide the way he sagged with relief. 

This was it. LeFou was opening a door to him at last. He could hardly believe it, but it felt so  _ good  _ to be standing here, chatting with him- amiable again. Warmth flooded through him. His heart was racing.

 

“LeFou,” he said, tentatively, quietly. “Would you- would you have dinner with me this week? I- I mean, you don’t have to, of course but- well- and you could bring Stanley- if you wanted. Or not. Whatever you-”

 

“Yes,” LeFou interrupted. A kindness really, the way he’d been rambling on, red-faced and completely inarticulate. “That would be nice. How about Thursday?” 

 

Gaston fought down a laugh of relief. He didn’t _ever_ have plans anymore, but even if he’d been having dinner with the bloody king of France he’d have cancelled it to be with LeFou. 

 

“Sure. Thursday sounds great,” he grinned. He could hardly contain his jubilation. He should probably go, now, before he did something to muck it up. “Er- well, I suppose you’ve got some shopping to do. I’ll- I’ll leave you to it. I'll see you Thursday. At the tavern?” 

 

LeFou gave him a smile, “Sure. Have a nice day, Gaston.” 

 

“You too,” Gaston said, turning to go. His hand was on the door, ready to go, when he spun back around. 

 

“LeFou,” he said. LeFou had been about to turn down an aisle, but turned back to look at Gaston questioningly. “Thank you. For giving me another chance. Really. Thank you.” 

He felt like his heart might burst. 

A shy sort of smile flickered across LeFou’s face and he shrugged. “I’ve missed you.” With that, he turned back down the aisle and stepped out of sight.

Gaston stepped out into the cold air, grinning from ear to ear, feeling like he might fly. 

**The End...?**  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... there it is. I think? 
> 
> I have mixed feelings about ending it here, but early on when I was writing this story, I had the thought of ending it with a hopeful but ambiguous note. The thinking being that readers could decide for themselves what they think should happen based on ship preferences/personal feelings about Gaston's actions etc. 
> 
> The main goal I wanted to accomplish was for Gaston to grow, to work on some of his flaws and become someone worthy of LeFou's friendship again.
> 
> But I'll admit, I DO want Gaston and LeFou together... romantic stylez. And I think he's redeemed himself enough to be worthy of LeFou's love. But of course, darling Stanley has been worthy of him all along, so it's complicated!!!
> 
> I'm open to readers' thoughts though... and the possibility of writing an alternate ending or something if there's a strong enough desire to see some actual Gafou romance. If you think it's fine ending it here, feel free to share your thoughts on how you see the rest of it going! I'd love to know what you imagine for the characters as I've written them.
> 
> Whatever happens, you all have been so magnificently kind and supportive, I can't even handle it. I'm so glad you took this journey with me! It's been an absolute pleasure! THANK YOU.


End file.
